


An Angel's Tears

by RabidSquid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Amnesia, Angst, Angst and Feels, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Dad Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, F/M, Family Feels, Feels, Fluff and Angst, IN SPACE!, Moira has secrets, Outer Space, Overwatch - Freeform, Plot Twists, Secrets, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-12-20 02:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11911602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabidSquid/pseuds/RabidSquid
Summary: He was robbed of his memory and his past, she became driven by it.When the renowned Dr. Ziegler is stranded in the midst of a hostile empire, there's only one mercenary army that is willing to save her at the command of a man many believe to be the incarnation of Death itself.





	1. Stranded

**Author's Note:**

> So here's a take on Overwatch, if it was in SPAAACCCEEE! This AU is called Starwatch (original, I know)
> 
> Each major character more or less still has the same role as the canon, but there are a few alterations in this AU (ex: Reaper has amnesia, Phara is a pilot, etc). While I have figured out a role for all the heroes in Starwatch, not all of them will be featured here as we're focusing on a select cast.
> 
> And for your convenience, some pretext; Humans have settled across large swathes of the galaxy in a national coalition known as the United Human Federation. The Omnic Crisis was a civil war and the Omnics became nomadic fleets in the aftermath. Starwatch is pretty much the same deal as Overwatch and its history is more or less the same as the canon, but instead of Talon, there's the mercenary army known as Black Eagle and the fierce alien race, the Zigganaught Empire. The Galactic War is waged mostly between the Federation and Empire with the Omnics mostly remaining out of the conflict and elements of Black Eagle working for whoever makes the best offer.

_Seven years ago in deep space..._

 

  
Darkness.

Hunger.

Pain.

His vision kept blinking in and out, tides of darkness ebbing and flowing across his vision. He felt adrift and cold. Everything he saw looked smeared and out of focus. He tried to feel something in his body, his fingers weakly twitching in response. There was a flicker of light, his bleary gaze focusing on that.

He heard no footsteps, no breathing, no voices. He saw a blurry outline of someone else in front of him, a human-like shape made of pulsating light. The light looked alive, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. The hunger in his body gnawed at him as the light neared, his hand responding to his actions.

He reached for that light, its glow becoming dimmer the second he grasped it. He felt something attempt to wrench his hand off, but he realized that he was feeling a bit better. He tightened his grip, the light soon going out altogether. But the appetite in his body weakened, the blurry shapes and outlines in his sight sharpening. He felt the hollowness in his torso wane and soon he could feel his other arm regenerate.

He saw more of that light, the life-giving glow that fed his appetite.

He felt his body contort and reshape into a vapour, the black smoke nearing the lights. One by one they went out, but he felt better with each one he devoured. He could see the dim glow from floodlights that were affixed to the floor along the corridors, hundreds of corpses and discarded weapons floating in the ship's dead husk.

There were more lights, more of that glow that promised sustenance.

He felt his body collect itself. He may have once been human, but his legs and parts of his torso and head kept flickering in and out of reality while wisps of onyx vapour streamed from him like a ghost that had clawed its way out of its grave. He approached the lights, his eyes reflecting nothing but hunger.

He needed that light.

He needed to feed.

 

* * *

 

_Present day, high orbit over 4th planet in orbit of the star Thelsian_

 

  
Evacuations were a delicate procedure at best. Not only does the pandemonium of the masses need to be addressed, but the threat of disaster and loss of life does little to soothe the mind. Nonetheless, those that fled from the firestorm had to be calmed as they neared the last of the dropships.

"Squad 8 to command, last of civilians are on approach. Zigganaught ships are closing in, please advise, over." The Federation soldier's headset crackled as he recieved his response.

"Open fire on the Ziggs, but make sure the wreckage does not land on the civilians." The commander's warship was one of the few Federation ships still in orbit, the hulking vessel opening fire on the savagely designed vessels of the Zigganaught Empire. More of the imperial ships were nearing, Federation ships fleeing from the invading force.

Gunfire roared in accompaniment with battlecries and howls from engines, flaming wreckage and bodies scattered around the base. From their trenches, Federation soldiers fired on the screeching Zigganaught Prowlers that zipped above them. While the alien vessels fell to the massed fire, three more took its place.

Gritting her teeth, Mercy focused her Caduceus Staff's healing beam on the wounded before her. The white of her Valkyrie suit was smeared with ash and blood, but she remained resolute as she watched the soldiers recover from their gunshot wounds and shrapnel. "Will these beasts ever cease their attacks?" The medic muttered.

She ducked as the metal harpoon bolts of the Zigganaught guns narrowly grazed her high ponytail, a few golden strands shaved right off. Crouching behind the downed gunship, she noticed the trio of soldiers motion for her to leave. "We're good to fight, go help the rest!"

Nodding, Mercy's thrusters activated as she took flight. Weaving through the hail of metal spears and harpoons, the medic was quick to find civillians partially buried beneath the rubble and twisted metal of shattered barricades. Needing no request, Mercy assisted with freeing those that were trapped from the wreckage before healing them with her staff as they fled the onslaught.

"Last of the civilians are airborne!" The commander's voice spoke into every soldier's earpiece as well as Mercy's. "Make your retreat now!"

A black cloud of smoke smothered the sky, Federation forces gazing in horror at what was approaching. It was a monstrous construct of metal and stone, its hull crafted in a design that reminded them of the Aztec pyramids from the stories of Ancient Earth. Carvings of serpents and skulls decorated all sides of the pyramid as it hovered above the ground, alien technology allowing it to drift above the battlefield like a terrifying god of old.

"Ziggs have got a Terraformer planetside!" A panicked voice yelled over the comms.

While she spent a few moments to gawk at the deathly machine, Mercy was quick to turn her head away from the sight and resume her flight from its approach. Of all the monstrous engines of war the Zigganaughts had made, it was the silhouette of the Terraformer that made Mercy's heart wrench in fear.

Nearing the landing pad, Mercy turned her head to the trail of destruction. The immense Terraformer was nearing them, Prowlers and Ravagers circling the floating monolith. Amidst the devastation, Mercy's eyes widened when she saw that there was someone left behind in the panic to escape.

"Ma'am?!" One of the soldiers questioned as he watched Mercy turn around and head straight towards the Terraformer.

"Get the dropships in the air, I will catch up!" Mercy barked into her headset. Flying close to the ground, Mercy jinked past broken I-beams and mounds of shattered concrete before coming to a stop. There was no resistance from the 7-year old boy she lifted into her arms and soon they took flight.

"I've got you..." She reassured the boy as they flew upwards, the dropships nearing. She could feel his face burying into her shoulder, Mercy pushing her Valkyrie suit to greater speed.

What happened played in slow motion to her. She saw large harpoons impale the dropships, lengths of metal cables stretching from the harpoons to the Prowler ships that snagged their prey. The Federation ships were dragged away from their path to freedom and straight towards the Terraformer, a stone panel opening up in its hull like the hungry jaws of Hell to devour the dropships.

Hovering above the gutted and burnt remnants of the base, Mercy watched the Terraformer near. Tightening her grip on the boy she held, Mercy knew that they wouldn't escape today. Flying towards the expanse of forest, Mercy adjusted her hold on the boy so one of her hands could reach her headset. "This is Mercy to _Unfailing_ , anyone there?"

"If it's taking you this long to get back up, that means you made a stop to pick up lunch for the rest of us right?" Lucio's voice was steady, but there was no mistaking his masked panic.

"The Zigganaught fleet is closing in Angela, we won't be able to wait much longer." Pharah's steely voice reflected the slightest hints of worry.

"The last dropships were shot down, I can't make it off the planet." Mercy answered grimly. "Get the patients out of there."

"Yeah, last I checked the Ziggs only scored 2 stars on Galactapedia." Lucio's joke had hints of panic. "You sure we can't send Pharah down to get you out?"

"The Zigganaughts will kill anyone that's in the system. Get the patients to safety before you try to get me out of here." The Terraformer was a black silhouette that towered above the treeline.

"Understood Angela." The pilot watching the bestial outlines of the Zigganaught ships near. "We will not abandon you my friend."

"I know." Mercy's voice soon dropped out, the connection lost as the _Unfailing_ joined the last of the Federation ships in their flight from the imperial fleet. While it appeared to be another one of the United Navy's battleships, the _Unfailing_ 's hull lacked any sign of weapons, the red cross painted across its hull.

"Alright ladies and gents, please remain keep your seats in the upright position and prepare for slight turbulence as we begin our flight." Lucio announced into the ship's intercom. A few of the patients that still had lips were able to manage a chuckle from them.

Phara could see the stars become blurry streaks as the _Unfailing_ escaped the Zigganaughts, the immense mobile hospital crossing the stars at speeds that were once thought impossible. "We'll get her back, we only need help..."


	2. Distant Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces begin to move, the game beginning

_Daenos System_  
"How can we thank you?"

"Payment's enough ma'am." The bounty hunter chuckled as he lit his cigar. Lying at his feet was the body of a man with a bullet hole right between the eyes. "Can see why ya had such a bounty on him, damn fool didn't know when to quit."

"It could almost be a shame that he used that persistence for slavery." The magistrate spat as she placed a briefcase on the desk between herself and the hunter. "I did triple-check, but you can take a look again to make sure all 500K is there."

"Don't worry ma'am, I trust you folks." The hunter accepted the case before placing his hat back over his messy dark brown hair.

"The people of Daenos thank you for your services Mr. McCree." The magistrate bowed her head.

"Ya can call me Jesse ma'am, all my friends do." McCree tipped his hat, a grin on his face as he vacated the magistrate's house. Like the other frontier worlds, Daenos reflected the rugged nature of its populace. Buildings were worn out constructs of metal and wood, the dust and sand from outside of town scattered across the streets.

His boots were scuffed and dusty, McCree's eyes wandering the near-empty streets. The scant people that went about their business beneath the blazing sun returned the smile and wave McCree gave them, the gunslinger nearing the flattened stone ground that was the town's landing pad.

"Ya got my chow and fuel?" McCree asked the greasy haired mechanic that tended to a beat up ship that was docked.

"It's all packed on board McCree." The engineer replied as he wiped his hands off on a rag. "I'll be honest, I'll miss ya. Place hasn't seen that much excitement before ya showed up."

"Heh, can't argue that." McCree handed the mechanic the briefcase. "Here's yer service fee."

Opening the case, the mechanic's eyes widened when he saw the contents. "It was only 10K for the lot..."

"Yeah but you got a few youngun's to feed and I don't." McCree made his way back onto the ship. "Thanks for the services hoss." He tipped his hat at the mechanic, the engineer returning the gesture. Climbing onto his ship, McCree seated himself back at the helm of his vessel.

Once the mechanic was clear, the thrusters ignited in a roaring inferno and Peacemaker took to the skies. McCree's grip on the ship's controls was unbreakable as the Peacemaker broke atmosphere and ascended further into the heavens. Reaching the infinite depths of space, McCree leaned back in his seat as the ship moved further from Daenos.

"Ahhh, back out in the depths again..." McCree watched the millions of distant lights from stars across the black emptiness. Streaks of purple gathered across the void like clouds, McCree watching the pulsating nebula from his seat.

Glancing at the console, McCree frowned when he recognized the glowing envelope icon on the screen. Tapping it, McCree's eyes scanned the message and his eyes narrowed.

"This ain't good...." Turning to the navigation console, McCree's bionic fingers punched in the coordinates. Once the route was calculated, McCree pressed his palm into the hyperdrive's button and soon the glow of stars became blurs.

 

* * *

 

 _Bosar System_  
Bosar was a byword for Hell in the Scarus Sector, a planet that had been scarred by war and slaughter until its oceans were gore and its surface was a cracked into a labyrinth of fissures and pits. Despite the blackened skies of smog and glistening pools of blood, immense stone and metal pyramids rose above the barren hellscape like jagged teeth.

This was practically his paradise.

"Forward!" Reaper's swarthy voice had the charm and finesse of breaking bones. His black robes billowed behind him like the wings of a demonic bird, his twin shotguns at the ready. Everything about him was black from his armor, robes, and weaponry but his face was hidden with the only sign of color; a white skull mask crafted into the shape of a bird skull.

At his side, men and women clad in onyx combat gear fired on the Zigganaughts around them. Like their commander, they too sported a black attire ranging from their boots to their flak vests and helmets. Their faces were hidden with gas masks, all of them carrying weapons such as assault rifles, shotguns, flamethrowers, and many more. They wore various attires from all points of the map underneath their armor, but all of them had a patch sewn on their right sleeve that bore the profile of an eagle. It was a mark that struck fear, the mark of the Black Eagle mercenaries.

"Ziggs ahead sir!" One of the commandos yelled as he turned his minigun on the fresh onslaught of Zigganaught warriors.

Turning his head, Reaper saw the skittering horde of serpents the galaxy learnt to fear. The Zigganaughts bore an uncanny resemblance to the snakes of Ancient Earth, yet their faces were more elongated and their jaws had enough teeth to rival sharks. Sprouting from the back of their skulls were plumages of feathers while they had a pair of short yet muscular clawed arms. On their backs were harnesses that bore their savage spearguns, harpoons fired straight towards the Black Eagles.

Raising his shotguns, Reaper stared down the approaching horde. "Leave none alive!" He opened fire on the Zigganaughts, his shotgun pellets ripping them into chunks of meat and gristle.

At his side, the other Black Eagles opened fire with their myriad guns. Bullets, lasers, flames, and rockets tore into the Zigganaught horde. In response harpoon bolts and spears rained upon the Black Eagles, the mercenaries taking cover behind rubble and scrap metal. There were curses in various languages as a few of them were struck in the shoulder or leg, but none of the Black Eagles faltered.

Glancing at the Zigganaught pyramid on the side, Reaper jerked his head towards it. "I'm sensing more Zigganaughts in there. Can you handle the rest?" He motioned to the nearing horde and opened fire.

"As if they'll actually win." One of the Black Eagles chuckled. Unlike the others, he sported a white skull-like mask.

Reaper nodded. "You need help, you know where to find me." He then began to evaporate, his body and equipment becoming a black cloud of smoke that drifted above the battlefield. The ebony fog seethed and coiled as it approached the nearby pyramid and easily floated into the building. Once inside, it reformed into the shape of what many believed was Death itself.

He was perched on a ledge overlooking another mob of Zigganaught warriors, the reptiles arming themselves. Leaping from his perch, Reaper landed right in the midst of the bestial aliens. When they saw Reaper, the Zigganaughts recoiled as fear filled their normally bloodthirsty gazes. They recognized the ivory mask, the face of the legendary soldiers that left nothing but corpses in their wake through the ages.

Behind the mask of the Talon of God, Reaper's scarred lips curled into a grin. He could see hundreds of flickering lights that promised life, bright glows that promised to feed his hunger.

"Good news, your god is here." Reaper's voice made the Zigganaughts recoil. "...and he's fresh out of mercy."

 

* * *

 

 _Thelsian 4_  
Mercy took aim with her pistol. Her finger crept to the trigger, her gaze unwavering from her target. She had a perfect shot, but the medic failed to fire. Mercy lowered the gun by a fraction before she regained her focus. As much as she hated to admit it, she had to pull the trigger to survive.

"Everything's gotta live off of death. Ugly as it is, it's just the way this world spins." A familiar voice echoed.

"I'm sorry." Mercy whispered as she fired. To her relief, the creature died instantly the second the bullet exited its skull and she hoped that it didn't feel anything. Rising from cover, she approached the carcass and lifted it over her shoulders. It had considerable heft to it, but it was nothing the medic couldn't carry.

Reaching the small clearing in the forest, Mercy's silvery blue eyes were quick to spot the boy that was hiding in the scrub. Dropping the animal carcass onto the ground, Mercy knelt near the bush. "It's okay, I'm here."

The boy scooted out from cover to approach Mercy and hug her. Returning the embrace, Mercy simply held him and did her best to calm his trembling. Once his shivering subsided, Mercy released him and she turned to the carcass. Much as she hated to admit it, her mastery over surgery made her skilled at carving meat.

Unfastening the harness that was over her Valkyrie suit, Mercy removed her backpack and rummaged through it for her cooking kit. Placing a cylindrical device on the ground, she found a large knife and started the grisly job of skinning and carving the carcass. About half an hour later, she had a few pieces of meat simmering in the Portastove, her and the boy sitting in the darkness waiting for their supper.

After a few moments of silence, Mercy turned her head to the boy. "What's your name?"

"Grayson." His voice was quiet, barely louder then a whisper. "You're the mercy angel aren't you?"

Mercy smiled at the nickname. "Some people call me that."

"What do I call you?"

"Some people call me Mercy, others Dr. Ziegler. You can call me either of those or Angela." She answered with a shrug.

Grayson was silent again, his gaze scanning the trees around them as he pulled his knees to his chest. "...will those monsters come for us?"

Mercy bit her lip as she crossed her legs. "Maybe. If we move further away from the pyramid they brought though, they probably won't find us."

"But they might?" Grayson's voice trembled along with is lean frame.

Mercy looked into Grayson's eyes, hers bearing nothing but iron resolve. "If they do, I won't let them hurt you." She placed a firm grip on the boy's shoulder. "As long as I'm here, you'll be safe."

"Promise?"

"Promise." The doctor answered without hesitation. Glancing at the mobile oven, she noticed its blinking light. "Dinner is ready." Opening the device, she produced several strips of cooked meat. "May not taste good, but we need to eat." She served Grayson the larger portion, Mercy tucking into her food.

While she ate, she noticed how quickly Grayson devoured his. She frowned when she saw the faint bruises and scars across Grayson' face, the doctor judging them to have been there for years. Finishing their meal within minutes, Mercy packed the cooking gear back into her bag while Grayson yawned.

"You should rest." Mercy gently ordered.

Grayson tiredly nodded and he followed Mercy to the cover of the trees. Leaning his back against a tree, Grayson's eyes soon closed while Mercy got herself comfortable next to him. She heard quiet snores, Mercy studying the boy's injuries. Her eyebrows connected as she recognized a few of them, wounds that didn't come from Zigganaughts but human hands.

"You didn't deserve it..." She whispered. Glancing at Grayson's face, she saw a familiar scar. The old gash ran from the right side of his chin and across his lips before it ended just below his nose. It brought back memories of him...

 

* * *

 

 _Blackstar Infirmary, 9 years ago_  
"I'm telling you doc, I'm fi--OW!" Gabriel's protests were cut off by the sting of alcohol being dabbed into the fresh cuts across his face.

"And in my professional opinion, you should've let me treated it sooner." Angela retorted as she finished cleaning out the wounds. "And honestly Gabriel, I cannot believe that they really got the drop on you, you're too good for that."

"Awww, you'll make me blush." Gabriel smirked. It soon faded when he saw the medic preparing to thread a needle. "Okay, I'm drawing the line at stitches."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Afraid of needles?"

"Those things are a lot more terrifying when you're on the receiving end of them." The Blackstar commander sulked.

"Alright then, no stitches." Angela sighed as she packed up her medical pack. "But you will take two days off from active duty to let the scars heal over."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "...two days? Really?"

"Well I thought you'd like to minimize the risk of infection so that you could save your face." Angela remarked. "And I mean that literally."

"In case you haven't noticed doc, I've got the looks of a slab of rotten ham."

"Nooo, that's your demeanour." Angela teased.

Now it was Gabriel's turn to roll his eyes. "That makes me feel loads better."

The doctor giggled. "Well if it's any consolation, the scars give you the tough-guy look. It's good for what you do."

Gabriel ran a calloused hand over the largest of the new cuts. It ran from the right side of his chin and across his lips before ending below his nose. "Considering what I do is scare everyone, I guess you've got a point."

"You're not as bad as you think Gabriel." Angela replied. "You hide it well, but beneath the hard exterior, you are still soft inside."

 

* * *

 

 _Joro System, Present Day_  
Snakepit was far from a welcoming name, but the bar was not famed for hospitality. Its air was rank with stale beer and tobacco smoke, the chatter of mercenaries, pirates, smugglers, junkers, and more of the galaxy's shadier populace accompanying the gritty sound of metal music from the jukebox. Tables leaned too far to one side and chairs were hard to find, the splinters of seats and broken teeth a telltale sign of the nature of the place.

"Well, looks like my drink was given extra protein." Lucio stared at what he hoped was a drowned beetle in his drink.

Pharah took a swig from a metal tankard, the pilot and musician seated at a quieter table in the corner. "He likes to keep to his element. Besides, we're technically supposed to report him to the local Feds if we see him."

Lucio pushed his own drink further away from him. "Well, this place is as far as you can get from the Feds without hitting the Outlands."

"Well now, ain't you two a sight for sore eyes."

Despite their recent misfortune and the gruff atmosphere of the Snakepit, Lucio and Pharah couldn't help but smile at the sound of the familiar voice. "Glad you could make it Jesse." Pharah remarked.

McCree tipped his hat. "Ya know me, I've always got some time put aside for good friends."


	3. Coldblooded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How far would you go to find your memories? How much would you pay to save your friend?

_Bosar System_  
Bodies were piled four corpses deep, Zigganaughts either blown to bloody bits, shot full of bullets, or charred to burnt bones. Atop the mounds of bodies, Black Eagles hastily wiped blood off blades and checked their munition packs while clouds of dust and smoke trailed across the poisonous air like a greasy rag. Others were lying atop the cracked stone ground, their injuries being tended to while the rest scanned the eerily silent Zigganaught temples around them.

There was a steady beeping sound in the headset of one of the Black Eagles. Tapping the side of his helmet, the face of a young woman made of magenta light appeared in his HUD. "Hola Henderson, is el anciano there? He isn't answering his comms."

Henderson chuckled at the sound of Reaper's nickname. "Haven't seen the him since he singlehandedly stormed a Zigg temple Sombra. My guess is that he's feeding."

"Well he better answer soon." Sombra snapped. "La araña is getting on my case about why she can't talk to him, apparently we're getting a contract offer."

"I'll go get him." Henderson reassured her and soon the hologram flickered off. Turning his head to the rest of the mercs, he pointed to two of them. "Laurie, Dracken, you two are coming with me to find Reaper. Rest of you get the gunships down here and head back to the _Blossom_ , we've got a contract pending."

There were nods and affirmative grunts, a tall lean woman carrying a pair of handguns and an immense scaly-skinned creature with rows of spines protruding from his elbows tailed Henderson into the temple Reaper vanished into. The stone and metal halls were lit with a ghoulish green glow, glass tubes that held an alien slime lining the ceiling for light. Parts of the walls were gouged with shotgun pellets, Zigganaught corpses scattered all over. Frighteningly, some appeared to be mummified husks, as if they had rapidly aged in seconds.

"Dosla brach, nur kaladacht." Dracken muttered as his reptilian eyes scanned the destruction.

"You said it big man." Henderson replied.

Reaching an antechamber, they saw Reaper standing over a stone console of some sort, his right hand firmly clasped around the throat of a Zigganaught. Unusually, they could see his bare arms, the sallow and necrotic skin plainly visible while his clawed gloves lay discarded on the floor.

"You really should put those back on, Sombra's being trying to get ahold of you." Laurie commented as she scooped the gauntlets off the ground.

"Hold on..." Reaper watched the Zigganaught in his grip rapidly decay, its skin becoming taught around its skeleton while its muscles faded into nothing. Its plumage rotted and fell out, the eyes following suit as they imploded into a pair of empty black pits. Once he could see no more of that precious glow that fed him, Reaper discarded the fresh corpse.

"Thanks." Reaper was careful to make sure his bare hands touched only his gloves as he took them back from Laurie. Pulling them back on, he then tapped the lightly glowing purple button on his right gauntlet and a hologram of Sombra hovered over his wrist. "Report."

"Widow says she's got a contract." Sombra's hologram folded her arms across her chest. "Said something about this being a special case, wants you to personally take a look at it."

"What makes her think I need to evaluate it?" Reaper's mask made his voice metallic and distorted.

Sombra shrugged. "Ask her yourself. She's gonna be on your ship pretty soon anciano."

"Understood." Looking back at the console, Reaper held his right wrist out to it. "Run a complete scan on this. This is the eighth Zigganaught stronghold we've found that has a similar set up, there's no way that's a coincidence."

A purple light emitted from the gauntlet, Sombra gathering more data then anyone else ever could in such a short time. "You think they're up to something?"

"Everyone's always up to something." Reaper answered as the scan finished. "Trick is figuring out how to play their schemes against them." Sombra's hologram flickered off, Reaper turning on his heel and leading the others back outside. "Status Henderson."

"We've lost Mitch, Jadus, and Krolox." Henderson answered. "Raynor's gonna need a new leg but we at least have all equipment accounted for."

Reaper grunted as the names of the fallen were listed off. The mercenaries soon exited the temple, their gazes met with the sight of a trio of gunships waiting while the last of their teammates got on board. Entering the nearest one, Reaper seated himself with the other Black Eagles, the one in the seat next to him handing him three necklaces, each one carrying a single owl feather.

It was a short trip before the mercenaries felt their gunships being docked into their bays in the hangar. Once the doors were open, the Black Eagles stepped down to find themselves in the company of the rest of the mercenaries that served aboard _Death Blossom_. Plenty of hugs and greetings in hundreds of dialects were exchanged as the battle-weary Black Eagles were welcomed back by the rest of the crew.

Walking through the crowd undisturbed, Reaper found the person he was looking for. She appeared to be nearing her 50's, streaks of silver among the black of her short hair. There were a few lines across her face, her features falling when she saw Reaper approach. He outstretched his hand, one of the owl feather necklaces resting in his palm.

"I'm sorry Tress." There was a gruff sadness to Reaper's voice that only his crew could hear. "Jadus was a good soldier, but...."

"...he's gone to defend Heaven's Gate." Tress finished as a few tears rolled down her cheek.

Reaper nodded. "He'll be lain to rest with the others soon." He watched her take the necklace, the widow bowing her head to him. "I hope you find your peace."

Tress only nodded as she melted back into the crowd. Sighing, Reaper's head sagged as he made his way up the stairs that led to metal walkways that were suspended above the hangar. His metal boots clanked with each step, his ragged cloak casting broken shadows in the light of lamps that were mounted along the walls.

Gnarling his hand into a fist, Reaper quietly spoke to himself. _They're gone, but that doesn't mean it was in vain_. He darkly chuckled as he thought back on the temple choking on his gruesome handiwork. _After all, vengeance is a hallmark of the Talon of God, is it not?_

There was a hiss as the door to the bridge slid open, various mercenaries monitoring the screens, dials, and consoles that kept the ship running. Built roughly in the middle of the ship along the dorsal side, _Death Blossom_ 's bridge offered its crew and captain a wide view of the stars around them with its immense windows. The forward dorsal guns were visible from here as well and a the back of the bridge stood a reminder of who was in command. Made of the broken metal of blades and guns, a throne-like seat dominated the bridge. The back of it was sculpted into the shape of two skeletons in hooded robes, scythes in hand and raven wings protruding from their backs.

"While not too practical, I can see why you enjoy this seat." A familiar accented voice commented. "Has a nice view and it radiates power."

Reaper's chuckle was often unnerving, but it did little to deter the woman that occupied his seat. "You thinking of getting something similar for _Cauchemar_  Amelie?"

"Much as I would like to, I believe it wouldn't quite work with the railgun." Widowmaker rose from the throne-like chair, the tall woman taking the short staircase that lead back down to the floor. While she sported the onyx attire of the other Black Eagle mercenaries as well as the mark of the organization on her right sleeve, there the similarities ended. She sported a well-worn black military shirt and pants, but the short leather coat she wore over those had dark purple markings that bore an uncanny resemblance to spider webs. The coat's sleeves had been cut off at the elbows, revealing a tattoo that read 'cauchemar' on her right arm, the black ink sticking out atop her light purple skin.

Approaching her, Reaper took Widowmaker's hand in his own the same way siblings did. "Good to see you Amelie."

Widowmaker returned the gesture. "You too Mort."

There were muffled snickers across the bridge, Reaper's eyes narrowing behind his mask as he stepped back. "What did we say about that nickname?"

"I am not calling you Reaper." Widowmaker smirked. _Besides, neither of those are even your real name_. She thought to herself.

"Fine..." Leaning back onto the railing that stood between them and the lower level of the bridge, Reaper folded his arms across his chest. "Sombra tells me that you have a possible contract, but you wanted to run it by me?"

The sniper nodded. "Oui." Her voice dropped to little more then a whisper. "But we'd best discuss this elsewhere, it might be...difficult for you to digest it."

Reaper's unblinking gaze bore into Widowmaker's amber eyes. She trusted the Death Blossom's crew as much as her own, but if she wanted to keep it secret for now... "Alright." Motioning for her to follow, Reaper was on point as they made their way to the belly of the ship. Soon the hallways were near silent, save for the quiet rumbling of the engines.

Reaching the armory, the two mercenary commanders were in the midst of a storage room with walls lined with guns while hovertanks, gun-walkers, and field guns were parked in neat rows. Raising her wrist, Widowmaker activated the projector, holograms of the planets of the Thelsian system. "Extraction job, target is Dr. Angela Ziegler. She was stranded on the 4th planet of the Thelsian system when the Zigganaughts conquered the planet."

Reaper nodded. "Nothing sounds out of the ordinary."

"It's not the mission or the location Mort." Widowmaker heard Reaper's breath catch when she flicked an image of Angela Ziegler onto the hologram. "It's her."

In spite of staring down danger in thousands of faces and being recognized as the Angel of Death himself, Reaper could only stare in shocked silence at Angela's face. Her sharp features, golden hair neatly pulled into a high ponytail, her determined eyes. There was no mistaking that face, a glimpse of beauty that haunted his memories.

He could never forget the first sight he saw in his life before he drowned in the darkness and hunger, the face of the earliest memory he had.

 

* * *

 

"You sure we can't ring up some of Starwatch's members?" Lucio asked as he watched the screen on _Peacemaker_ 's console. "Don't get me wrong I know these guys got a solid rep, but about half of the stories about them don't end well."

"Fraid not pardner." McCree grimly answered as he took a long drag on his cigar, his ashtray filled with more stubs of cigars then usual. "Chatter says that Federation is consolidating around Thelsian, but they're not planning on a counter-offensive in a timely manner. Jack and Reinhardt couldn't lead their fleets in without jumping through thirty hoops and doin' the hokey pokey while over a pit of rattlers and that's before they can haul their asses across half the galaxy."

"Jesse is right Lucio." Pharah added. "Our friends wouldn't get here in time, so we'll need to hire some outside help."

The trio watched the screen with growing anxiety. After being recapped, McCree was burning through cigars until they needed to air out the entire ship from the tobacco smoke while Lucio's headphones were playing his music louder then usual. It had been nearly an hour since the message was sent, no sign of a reply appearing.

Like most Federation pilots, Pharah sported a fur-lined leather jacket while various patches bearing the marks of famous pilot squads were stitched onto the sleeves. She wore a plain white singlet underneath and black combat pants, her dog-tags clinking every time she moved. Wrapped around her neck was a hand-knit scarf that was well-worn from decades of wear and tear, but it was still in great condition. "Something that is bothering me Jesse."

"Yeah?" McCree's eyes were focused solely on the screen.

"How do you have a direct line to a Black Eagle captain?"

There was the slightest twitch to McCree's eyes as he looked away from the two. Spitting his spent cigar into the ashtray, he started rummaging through the inside of his jacket for another.

"You are not answering Jesse." Pharah's eyes narrowed. "Our friend's life is on the line and you not only suggested Black Eagle, you also had a way to contact one of their captains which is something that only a crime boss, revolutionary leader, or dictator can do."

Removing his headphones, Lucio edged in his seat so he was between them should worse come to worse. "Look Jesse, we do trust you. We just don't know how you can ring up a Black Eagle captain right off the hop."

McCree sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "It ain't the easiest pill to swallow kid..." He turned in his seat to better face Pharah and Lucio. He could see the suspicion in their eyes. "I can tell ya, but you ain't gonna breathe another word of this until we're feedin' the worms, got it?"

The two nodded, McCree rubbing his forehead with his palm. He seemed to have aged to a haggard old veteran in seconds. "Well, toss another log on the fire kids, Uncle McCree's got quite the story to tell--"

There was a bleeping sound from the console, the three of them turning their heads to the screen. They saw an incoming call request, the name 'Blackbird' lighting up the screen. Looking back at the younger heroes, McCree saw them nod. Tapping the screen, McCree felt his throat dry when he saw an all too familiar face.

"Bonjour traitre" Widowmaker did little to hide her spite.

"Nice to see you too Amelie." McCree's scowl could kill.

Pharah and Lucio however were gobsmacked at the sight. The stories surrounding the Lacroixs were the tragic sort, the assassin couple having accumulated one of the highest counts of confirmed kills before the Aldroch Massacre claimed their lives.

At least that's what the official reports said.

Glancing behind McCree, Widowmaker's lips curled into a grin. "And I see you brought friends. Are these the newest generation of Starwatch, the replacements for those you and Genji shamelessly sold out?"

"You think we planned on getting Gabriel put on the Most Wanted list?" McCree retorted hotly. "We couldn't sleep knowin' what we did!"

"Yet you did nothing when they gunned him down Jesse." McCree's hand tightened into a fist at the venomous remark. "Gabriel brought you in when others would've killed you on sight, and you thanked him by selling him out so you could join Starwatch."

"All me and Genji did was confirm that he took a leave of absence!" McCree slammed his fist onto the console. "We didn't know it would lead to _Nightfall_!"

_Nightfall._

Pharah and Lucio recalled the name, the infamous ship of Blackstar that was lost seven years ago during a botched arrest of its captain. It was a well known tragedy in the Federation, but this was a side neither of them heard. They could only keep their jaws dropped as they watched one of the few Blackstar agents still alive converse with a woman that everyone else believed to be dead.

Widowmaker crossed her arms, her amber eyes unblinking in a few minutes of tense silence. "Five years ago I nearly put a bullet in your head. If you're contacting me, you'd better be able to convince me not to do so again Jesse."

McCree's eyes narrowed as his glare deepened. It took all the restraint and self-control he had to not terminate the transmission. "Old friend of ours is stuck in Zigg space. All we need is some help getting her out."

Widowmaker snorted. "What old friends? Everyone I knew from those days are either dead or left me for dead."

"Doesn't change the fact that she was still your friend Amelie." McCree pressed. "Way I remember it, Doc Ziegler was one of the few people you did like wasn't she?"

To everyone else, Widowmaker rarely had any change in emotion. It was rumored that she couldn't even more her facial muscles, but McCree could spot the slight twitch in her eyes at the mention of Mercy's name. "She was stranded on Thelsian 4 a little over a day ago when the Ziggs sent a Terraformer down. You know how these scaly bastards tick; 8 days after they move in the planet's choking on poison."

Widowmaker's face was unreadable as she digested the information. "I am sending you coordinates." Sure enough, a list of numbers appeared on the screen. "We can negotiate there."

"Why not now?" McCree pressed.

"There are elements to this mission that require the Talon's attention before a decision is made." Widowmaker answered flatly.

The blood of everyone aboard the Peacemaker went as cold as Widowmaker's at the gravity of her answer. "We're....we're meeting the Talon?"

"If your friend means as much as you say, oui." Widowmaker's face disappeared as the transmission ended, the coordinates gleaming in her place on the screen.

For awhile there was only silence between the trio. For one, he was given a painful reminder of his past while the other two had taken a glimpse into the shadowed and secret history of Starwatch's Black Ops division. McCree rubbed his forehead with his palm, a heavy reek of tobacco and whisky emanating from the gunslinger.

A few minutes passed before Lucio broke the silence. "What now Jesse?"

McCree punched the coordinates in as he turned to pilot his ship. "Saddle up kids, we're meetin' with the Talon of God."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a little clarification on Reaper's abilities in this particular story;
> 
> He's like the Marvel villain Omega Red in that he is incredibly durable and has no need for basic human needs (food, water, oxygen, etc.) However, his cells are constantly decaying and if left unchecked, he will die. How he counters the rotting is by draining life from virtually any living thing around him. Bacteria, insects, plants, and small birds outright die in Reaper's presence and he can drain life from larger organisms such as humans only through contact with his skin.
> 
> For when he goes Wraith and 'reaper-sitions' himself, he's simply parting his cells into a cloud before reforming his body once he reaches his destination. The unstable nature of his body also makes him vulnerable to fire, heat, and explosions as they can reduce his cell count by outright incinerating them or scattering them too far for Reaper's mind to maintain control over them.


	4. War Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Often the escape from the peril of the present is to briefly look back in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be honest, I don't really get much support on any of my artworks whether they be drawings, poems, or stories such as this. So the fact that people want me to continue means so much. Most of my projects were abandoned simply because no one else seemed to like them. So the fact that people, complete strangers, want me to continue....
> 
> I cannot thank you lovely people enough for liking my work
> 
> I really hope this and future chapters will be worth the wait.

_Thelsian 4_  
While it had been 4 days by the planet's standards, the temporal systems in the Valkyrie suit had recorded that it had been 51 hours since the Terraformer arrived. The forest around the two was thinning, trees becoming more sparse and smaller the further north they traversed. The grass had worn away to near nothing, blank rock and dusty dirt becoming more prevalent as they pressed on.

"Were you born here?" Mercy's voice broke the silence. The wings to her Valkyrie suit were folded down while her Caduceus Staff had telescoped to barely over a foot long and hung from her belt.

She turned her head to see Grayson nod, the boy keeping pace with her. Everything about him from his messy hair to his oversized jacket and his boots were worn, scuffs and dirt complimenting the tears and stitches.

Examining Grayson's jacket, Mercy had spent enough time stitching wounds back in the days of Starwatch to recognize the designation patch that was sewn to the right shoulder. While there was no mistaking the black star and its grey background, Mercy's brows furrowed as memories of bygone days mingled with the present.

Reaching the edges of the forest, the trees and grass had given way to bare rock and sandy dirt as a scarred landscape stretched on before them. Wind and rain had carved fissures and crevices while smoothing the outcroppings that jutted towards the sky. Sandy brown stratas were visible in the rock while dry and cracked bones of beasts long dead were unearthed by the winds that blew away the dirt they had been buried in.

Consulting the holographic map that flickered above her wrist, Mercy surveyed the badlands before them. "We've reached the Polar wastes." Seating herself and motioning for Grayson to follow suit, she removed her rucksack and doled out strips of jerky from her last hunt. "Eat well, this will be a long walk."

"No flying?" Grayson asked quietly before taking a bite.

Mercy shook her head. "My suit's flight systems have low energy reserves. It'd be better to save it for emergencies."

Aside from the rustling of branches, there was silence as the two dug into their meal. While far from a filling feast, it would keep them moving for a few more days. Finishing eating, Mercy started scooping handfuls of dusty dirt and started rubbing it onto her ivory armor. Soon the stark white was masked with the color of the badlands, Mercy satisfiyingly nodding.

Having finished his food, Grayson approached her. "Why'd you make yourself dirty?"

"Helps me blend in, see?" She held her arm close to the ground, the dirt-stained armor near indistinguishable from the ground. "You should get some dirt on too, it'll help."

Nodding, Grayson started rubbing handfuls of dirt onto his clothes. He took less time then Mercy, the two covered in the dust from worn rocks and ancient bones before they continued their trek. The blazing sun burnt brighter this far north, the medic and the boy picking their way through the rocky wastes.

Carefully climbing down a steep slope, Mercy dug her fingers into any crevice she could find as she lowered herself into the gully. The second she had a solid footing, she kept her arms up to help Grayson climb down. "Your jacket, where did you get it from?"

"Used to be my Uncle Anton's." Grayons answered as the boy and medic pressed on.

Mercy racked her mind as she tried to recall the name Anton from the many patients she treated during her visits to Nightfall's infirmary. "What was he like?"

"He always kept trying to make others smile." Grayson held his arms out for balance as he skidded down a gravelly slope. "He'd sing a lot and he liked cooking."

Glancing at him, Mercy's lips curled into a smile when she saw the faintest signs of a grin on Grayson's face. "Sounds like a cool uncle."

The slight smile he had faded. "He was."

There was a palpable aura of misery around him, Mercy's step faltering for a moment. The two wound their way further downhill, smalls stones and dust rolling down the slope along with them. "You know, you remind me of someone I used to know."

"Who?"

"A man named Gabriel Reyes." There was a familiar pang in her chest at the sound of his name.

"What was he like?"

Grayson's voice stopped Mercy from falling further into her memories. "He was a quiet one, only really talked with me..." And he used to talk to Jack quite a bit. She fondly remembered. As the ground levelled out, Mercy walked at a pace that Grayson matched despite her longer stride. "He was tough too. When a friend of his lost an arm, Gabriel carried him back to base through 8 miles of jungle despite having a piece of metal stuck in his leg."

"Whoa." Grayson's eyes were focused on his storyteller.

Mercy stiffled a giggle at the captivated look on Grayson's face. She recalled Pharah having a similar expression when Ana and Jack regaled her with their war stories. "How about this Grayson; we'll press on until night. Before we go to sleep, I'll tell you a story about Gabriel."

"Okay." Although his voice was quiet, Grayson's face was brighter then ever before. His footsteps quickened, the doctor picking up the pace to keep up with him.

The skies were bloodied as the sun began to set, streaks of purple and orange streaking across the heavens as the star Thelsian turned scarlet. Along the edges of the sky, an inky darkness began to creep closer. By the time dusk had settled, the two were seated at the base of a short cliff. Peeling his oversized jacket off, Grayson put it behind him as a pillow while Mercy produced more jerky for the two.

When the two were as comfy as they could get, Mercy began. "So, this is the time that Gabriel's best friend had been kidnapped..."

 

* * *

 

 _Blackstar vessel Nightfall, 9 years ago..._  
Angela had seen Gabriel angry before. The Blackstar commander often kept his emotions in check, but lately his talks with Jack had led to more frequent fits of rage from Gabriel. From what she heard though, their latest conversation put Gabriel in the blackest mood anyone had even seen.

She recognized the heavy stomping that neared her, Angela spotting the Blackstar commander approaching her from down the hall. Even from a distance, Angela recoiled slightly at Gabriel's look. It was if all the rage and hatred of humanity had been compressed and stuffed into a single body and was threatening to erupt.

"Don't try and talk me out of this Angela." Gabriel snarled as he neared.

"I wasn't planning to Gabriel." Angela replied. "But I do know that--"

Gabriel brushed past her, his rage numbing his hearing. Even though he was nearly a foot taller, Angela's grip was unbreakable as she grasped Gabriel's shoulder and forced him to turn around and face her. The commander was so livid, it took the entirety of his fractured patience to refrain from lashing out.

"Let. Me. Go." Gabriel seethed.

"You will listen to what I have to say Gabriel." Angela retorted evenly. "I know she's practically your sister, but if you go after Null Sector yourself, not even you will survive that. And even if you do find her, she'll probably need medical attention and we both know that you're not much of a medic."

Gabriel's eyes were stormy as his glare refused to falter. His presence seemed to make the air boil, the commander a volcano on the verge of unleashing its fury in a storm of absolute destruction. In an act of surprising tenderness, Gabriel gently pried Angela's hand off his shoulder.

"Where I'm going and who'll be coming with me are far from savory and legal." Gabriel's voice reflected his manacled rage. "If you get court martialed for tagging along, there's nothing I can do about it."

"I'll deal with it later." Angela remained resolute as she followed the Blackstar commander further down the corridor.

The two of them wound their way through the halls of the warship, the doctor and the commander eventually reached the ship's ventral hangars. Hanging from the ceiling's clamps were rows of gunships, Gabriel motioning for the doctor to follow him into one of them. The two were soon seated and the small ship was heading out of the hangar and into the infinite blackness.

"We keep a spare Blackstar uniform in the aft compartments." Gabriel spoke flatly. "Put it on, especially the bandana over your face. These people we're talking to are far from the legal side of the law and you do not want them recognizing your face."

Angela nodded grimly as she made her way to the aft of the gunship. Opening the storage compartments, she found the black uniform. Peeling her ivory Valkyrie suit off, Angela donned the obsidian fatigues and boots, ebon gloves following. Pulling the onyx flak vest over her uniform, Angela rejoined Gabriel at the helm.

"Coordinates are locked, we'll be making the jump soon." Gabriel kept his gaze set on the yawning abyss of space before them. "Last chance to back out."

"She's my friend too Gabriel." Angela replied firmly.

"Alright then." The stars became blurs and soon the two were making the jump. As they traversed the vast reaches of space, Gabriel turned his head to face the doctor. "Hey uh...I just wanted to thank you for um...still wanting to come with me."

"Well someone's got to make sure you two come home alive." Angela remarked as she seated herself next to Gabriel. "And you know people that can help?"

"I can tell you right now Angela that you probably won't like them."

"What makes you so certain Gabriel?" Angela raised an eyebrow.

A rumor amongst Starwatch circles was that Gabriel Reyes could not smile, only snarl in a friendly manner. Despite this stony demeanor, Angela was one of the few that could read Gabriel's face and it had 'you can kick me later' written all over it.

"We're meeting with Black Eagle mercs."

 

* * *

 

"Who are the Black Eagles?" Grayson asked.

"I'm afraid that will have to wait for tomorrow." Mercy answered with a sly grin.

"Awwwww." Grayson pouted.

From her rucksack, Mercy produced a pair of blankets for the two of them. Grayson took one and wrapped it around himself, Mercy instinctively tucking him in before attending to her own. "Goodnight Grayson."

"Goodnight Angela." Grayson murmured before nodding off.


	5. Deal With Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Before you reach the gates of Paradise or the door to the Lake of Fire, you must cross the shadowed valley of Death."

_Heaven's Gate_

Heaven's Gate was an ironic name for the mass graveyard of ships that stretched across an entire solar system. The dying Red Giant was clouded by scrap metal and the broken bones of ships, fragments of guns, hulls, reactors, and more drifting in the infinite darkness. Bulky warships of the Federation accompanied the bestial Zigganaught vessels, their hollowed carcasses little more then metal panels and loose bolts.

From his throne, Reaper watched the broken steel and glass shards drift pass the bridge of his ship. His thoughts were much like them, his feelings and memories aimlessly floating in the recesses of his skull. He could still see her face, a fragment of a recollection from his vicious birth. He could still see the golden light around her face, a moment of serenity before he was damned into the darkness and hunger for who knows how long.

"Who...who are you?" Reaper whispered. "Why do you haunt me?"

"Reaper? We have arrived." One of the mercenaries announced from his seat on the bridge.

The memories were silenced, Reaper looking up to see the scenes of death around his ship. Rising to his feet, Reaper straightened out his jacket. "Keep the ship stationary. We'll be having guests after the funerals."

Leading the bridge crew down to the hangars, Reaper's attire was more somber then usual. His armor was gone, the Talon wearing a black turtleneck sweater and pants. His metal greaves were replaced for more casual onyx boots and he sported plain black leather gloves, his cloak missing. The hood to his jacket was pulled low over the ivory mask of the Talon, casting long shadows over the scarred and cracked metal that hid his face.

Reaching the ventral airlocks, Reaper took his spot on a walkway that overlooked the gathered crew of the ship below him. While they wore the uniform of the Black Eagles, the similarities between mercenaries ended there. Each one had personalized their gear by painting designs, sporting ponchos and scarves over their armor, wearing necklaces made of bestial teeth, and many more variations. Even then, the mercenaries were a blend of humans, Omnics, and alien species that only had each other.

Bloodlines and race meant nothing, all that stood alongside Reaper were as good as his family.

"Fellow soldiers and friends, today we mourn the passing of those we call family." Reaper began in a heavy voice. "Jadus, Argroch, Mitchell, Krolox, Backbacon, and Wilhuf have all passed on." There were heavy nods from everyone that was gathered. "But that does not mean that they have been forgotten, nor will they ever be."

In the airlock, 6 open boxes were placed and their contents were ashes. "When we forget those that have been part of our lives, it is only then that have been lost." Reaper continued. "We will not forget those them, nor those that have passed before them as well. For no matter how many decades pass, not one Black Eagle truly dies so long as we remember them."

The gathered mercenaries curled their right hands into a fist and all of them were raised. Those that chose to not wear their gloves had the same mark tattooed onto their skin; the profile of an eagle in black ink. Keeping the airlock closed, Reaper flicked the switch that opened the outer door. The boxes of cremated ashes were sucked out into the infinite black, the ashes scattered across Heaven's Gates.

"Sleep well with your fellow fallen brothers and sisters, guardians of Heaven's Gates." Reaper announced, his gravelly voice solemn.

 

* * *

 

Lucio let out a low whistle. "Yeesh, looks like the Ziggs did a real number here."

"Well the Battle of the Crimson Stars was ranked one of the costliest battles in Federation history." Pharah remarked as she scanned the passing shipwrecks and gutted vessels. She and Lucio may not have been witnesses to the slaughter, but they had heard the stories from its survivors.

"Why is it called Heaven's Gate anyways?" Lucio inquired.

"It's right in the middle of the Outer Reach highway." McCree wheezed, the bounty hunter hunched over a bucket while the reek of tobacco and alcohol hung over him. His drinking and chain-smoking finally caught up with him. "This hyperspeed lane goes straight from the Terran system and all the way to Zael without worry of running into any planet or star."

"At least until this graveyard was made." Pharah darkly remarked. "If anyone tries to move any quicker then sub-light through this, they run the risk of this derbies doing extensive damage to their ship."

The _Peacemaker_ wound its way through the clouds of scrap metal and frozen corpses. Remnants of the largest naval battle in Federation history were scattered in the blood red star's orbit, Federation and Imperial vessels alike gutted and torn metal constructs. Shards of metal and glass drifted past the Peacemaker, a quiet 'tink' echoing onboard as they made their way to their destination.

The ship was immense, measuring a little over 1400 meters. It was a bestial and awe-inspiring construct of steel, its hull crafted into a blade-like shape. The dorsal side of the ship gradually reached upwards as more floors were built into it the closer to the aft they reached, immense guns lining its hull. At the aft of the ship, two pairs of 'wings' outstretched while its thrusters gave off a crimson glow.

"...okay, that's a large ship." Lucio commented.

"Agreed." Pharah remarked.

Right in the middle of the hulking vessel's dorsal side, heavy metal panels slid back to reveal a long narrow hangar for the _Peacemaker_ to dock into. Once the smaller ship had landed, the _Death Blossom's_ hangar doors closed while the trio disembarked.

"Really should stop smoking those damn things..." McCree grumbled as he haphazardly made his way down his ship's gangplank and into the midst of the Black Eagle warship. Lucio and Pharah helped him remain upright as they looked around.

Rows of Reaver-class gunships were at the ready, Black Eagle mercenaries either arming the strike craft, checking them for any damage, or hastily repairing them in preparation for their next battle. Approaching the trio was someone that could've been a ghost to two of them, her amber eyes reflecting fury at the ex-Blackstar agent while her face was rigid.

"Well now, you certainly look better then when we last talked." Widowmaker smirked at McCree, the cowboy grunting before he coughed.

"He's still in good enough condition to talk." Pharah retorted.

"He'd better be." Widowmaker replied as she motioned for them to follow. Winding their way through the labyrinthine hallways and corridors, Widowmaker glanced at the potential business partners. "Jesse I know well, but you two...I do not believe we've met have we?"

"Heard of you, but it's the first time we've actually met." Lucio answered.

"It's been awhile since we last saw each other Amelie." Pharah grunted as she made sure McCree remained upright.

Despite having her back to them, it was apparent that Widowmaker did not expect to hear her true name. "You know my...?" When she looked at Pharah again, the sniper's lips curled into a grin as she put the pieces together. "Ah, bien sûr. You're Ana Amari's daughter, Fareeha wasn't it?"

Pharah nodded as she stopped McCree from slipping onto the floor, the cowboy hiccoughing.

"Se sent comme hier, I recall your mother and I competing in sniping duels." Widowmaker commented. "How's she been by the way?"

"It's a bit of a touchy matter." Lucio piped up.

Widowmaker chuckled as she opened the door for the trio. "Well at least I'm trying to keep in contact with old friends." Her voice dropped in volume as she held the door open. "Which is more then can be said about them."

They were in a near-empty room, only a table and enough chairs for everyone present furnishing the space while a single light illuminated the room. Helping McCree get seated into one of the chairs before getting into their own, Lucio and Pharah watched Widowmaker take a seat opposite of them while the door behind her opened.

While there was no mistaking his impressive stature or ivory mask, the trio were taken aback a bit by how the Talon appeared. Footage of him showed him wearing billowing obsidian robes that made him appear to be a hell-spawned bird, his armor adorned with skull-like accents and spikes while fresh blood was painted across his demonic figure.

Yet the infamous warlord before them sported a simple ebon attire. His pants and turtleneck had no elaborate or monstrous designs, his gloves and boots were plain black leather, and while his jacket had a hood, it was a simple jacket that lacked the length and volume that his cloaks had.

"I am aware of the job you three are offering, but I find negotiations run smoother when introductions are made." The Talon spoke in a flat voice, no sign of hostility or welcoming within it. "I've gone by a lot of names, but you can simply call me Reaper." Sitting next to Widowmaker, he motioned for his guests to respond.

"Name's McCree, these two are friends of mine; Lucio and Pharah." McCree summoned as much willpower as he could to keep himself from collapsing from the mild alcohol and tobacco poisoning.

Reaper's gaze turned to Lucio. "You wouldn't happen to be that musician celebrity wouldn't you?"

Lucio blinked. "You know me?"

"We're mercenaries, not savages." Reaper replied with a shrug. "I'll admit I myself prefer older tunes, but some of the younger ones on my ship and a few of my nieces and nephews love your work."

This was easily the most awkward flattery Lucio had ever felt.

"You have nieces and nephews?" Pharah asked incredulously.

"Well yeah. Last I checked, I think I've got a few thousand foster siblings and a fair share of them have kids."

"Foster siblings?" All three spoke at once.

"If you're a Black Eagle on you're on my ship, you're as good as my family." Reaper answered. Even though his face was hidden, there was no mistaking the gruff honesty in his voice.

This was quite different from what the trio expected. Everything they heard of the Talons were stories of legendary soldiers and warlords that survived and fought in more wars then anyone else of their generation, each successive Talon more fierce and credited with a greater list of victories then the last. They had ordered the execution of entire planets and commanded the most dangerous armies that ever roamed the stars, the mere mentioning of their arrival heralding bouts of panic and hysteria.

Yet the Talon they were conversing with was discussing his family as casually as one talked about the weather. Despite his presence radiating power, Reaper seemed more like a dad then the warmonger the media portrayed him as.

"So, Amelie here tells me that you need help rescuing a friend of yours from a Zigganaught colony." Reaper's discussing of business snapped his guests back to reality. "Given that you're wanting us to risk life and limb, the service fee is understandably priced as such." Reaper's gaze hardened as his unblinking eyes bore into each of them. "So what can you afford?"

"We talked it over on the trip and we all reached what we consider a fair offer." McCree returned the gaze with an equally steely stare. "Fer actual credits we can give you a little over 400K. However my colleagues as well as the doc have an immortal's lifetime supply of medical supplies thanks to their hospital ship. Given that yer constantly in war, figured you'd need some stuff to keep yerselves breathin' for a few more years."

Behind his mask Reaper slightly smiled. He was impressed with the display of willpower not only from McCree, but Pharah and Lucio as well. "The medical gear you can supply us with is from a hospital ship yes? What of your patients?"

"The ship is part of the Hippocratic Union of New Geneva." Pharah answered. "Its stores will be restocked the second it makes port."

Reaper's dark form was deathly still, save for the drumming of the fingers on his right hand. There wasn't even a sign of the Talon moving, as if he was a statue. "Make the credits 600K, and we've got a deal."

McCree snorted. "You think we're made of money?"

"We're the ones putting our lives on the line." Reaper countered.

"Even so, your price is steep." Pharah pressed.

"We may be mercenaries, but we are not the criminal scum you Federation whelps so frequently take us for." While he made no threatening movements or even raised his voice, Reaper still radiated menace. "We've been hired to do the dirty work for the Federation before and our compensation was spite and a slashed price for doing a job no one else had the balls to do. So if you want our help, 600K and the medical supplies."

"We ain't paying you spit if yer gonna extort us." McCree replied evenly. "Our offer is 400K and a jackton of meds and if you don't like it, too bad sunshine! Fer all we know, we probably don't even need help from you lot anyway."

While they kept strong faces, McCree, Pharah, and Lucio felt the slightest cracks in their resolve. They were in the midst of a warship crewed entirely by the most deadly soldiers in the galaxy and right in front of them was the man that had been titled as the 'Angel of Death' by humans, Omnics, and even Zigganaughts alike.

The unearthly chuckle that came from Reaper put them on edge, McCree's hand resting on his revolver. "You not only have the guts to dive into a Zigg planet, but also not crack under my gaze like most men do." Reaper leaned back in his seat. "For 400K and medical supplies, you can count on the Black Eagles to back you up."

The trio blinked. "Really?" Lucio finally spoke.

"I can count on one hand how many people show the kind of resolve you three have who were not a Black Eagle." Reaper held up three fingers on his left hand. He then outstretched one of his gloved hands. "Do we have an agreement?"

McCree returned the handshake. "Indeed we do."

 

* * *

 

_Thelsian 4_  
When crossing a desert, food and water is worth far more then one would assume. While they had enough to cross the polar wastelands, Mercy and Grayson found the badlands far more unforgiving then they would have if they were moving on full bellies. Their pace had slowed underneath the blazing sun, the boy and the medic picking their way through the dusty wastes.

"How much further?" Grayson had shed his jacket and draped it over his head in an effort to keep the sun out of his eyes.

"Three days until we're near the other side of the polar waste." Mercy answered. Like her young companion, Mercy was covered in dust, her hair was a mess, and her pace was heavier. A hand went to her gut at the sound of her stomach growling, the doctor clenching her jaw in response.

Turning her head to Grayson, she noticed the slight limp in his tread. Reaching into her rucksack, Mercy handed him a strip of jerky. "Eat up, you need it."

Grayson shook his head. "I'll be good."

Mercy placed the food into the boy's hands. "You're showing lightheadedness and fatigue, signs of undernourishment. You need food, and you need it now."

Grayson seemed hesitant to eat at first, it was as if he was expecting Mercy to lash out. While he accepted the food, Mercy frowned when she noticed how quickly he ate. After the snack break, the two pressed on. Heading further into the desert, their footsteps kicked up dust and sand with every step.

In a desert, there is little noise or sound other then the whispering of wind. Any sound travels far, which is why Mercy could hear the howling shrieks of Prowlers from afar. Operating on her wartime instincts, Mercy grabbed Grayson and yanked him to the nearest crevice. Their dusted clothing helped them blend into the ground, the savage vessel hovering over them.

Like other Zigganaught vessels, the Prowler looked to be a bestial construct of metal and stone. Its hull was segmented metal blades with alien markings carved into them, the vessel designed into the likeness of a shark crossed with an eel. It bristled with spearguns that tracked back and forth, the ship hovering near the duo's hiding spot.

Grayons was huddled on the ground next to Mercy, the doctor's arm over him and keeping him prone. Glancing upwards, he could see only the sky but his skull rattled with the rumble of the Prowler's engines. His breathing was uneven, Mercy's presence keeping him from losing his cool.

On the surface barely over 30 feet away from where the two were hiding, the Prowler lowered itself closer to the ground. The ventral side of the vessel slid open, a trio of Zigganaughts slithering out of the opening and onto the ground. Poking their forked tongues out, the reptiles' yellow eyes scanned the barren landscape around them.

They had picked up the trail. Now it was time to close in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to family AUs, I headcanon that Gabriel Reyes was a bit of a father figure in Blackwatch. He had his flaws, but he has gruff affection that made sure you knew that he'd have your back no matter what. As Reaper (in this AU at least), the paternal instinct was hardwired into him so deeply that not even dying and being resurrected could erase it. On the battlefield he is the demonic warlord the rest of the galaxy thinks he is, but during peacetime he's like a quiet, mildly distant, but still caring dad/uncle who shows affection through teaching you how to use guns, hand-to-hand combat, and letting you choose what to put on the radio.


	6. Eve of Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheels of war begin to spin as the clock of fate has begun to toll.

_Hyperspace, onboard the Death Blossom_  
"We'll be arriving in a few hours anciano." The violet hologram of Sombra hovered before a projector in one of Death Blossom's corridors. "You want the ship to exit hyperspace within orbiting range?"

"Take us out by Thelsian 5." Came the short reply of the Talon as he tested his shotguns' digistruction. His masked face then turned to Widowmaker. "Once we're out of hypserspace, get _Cauchemar_ here ASAP. We're gonna need some extra muscle once shit hits the fan."

"Je vous sauve toujours." Widowmaker smirked.

"Cállate." Reaper retorted with a chuckle. With his arsenal ready, he headed towards the main hangar to brief his ground team. As the deathly man made his way further down the hallway, Widowmaker's eyes were glued to the Talon.

In the six years they've known each other, Amelie had seen no sign of Gabriel's return. While she saw brief glimpses and echoes of her old friend, she still hadn't seen the man she once knew. Her left hand traveled to the dog tags that were around her neck, a simple golden wedding band on the ring finger. She couldn't stop her mind from delving back into the distant past...

 

* * *

 

_9 years ago..._

She hadn't felt this numb before.

Amelie Lacroix had been in the arctic wastes of Evlon during the planet's winter and she was nearly a live experiment in human cryogenics. But this felt different, as if the cold was from within her heart and spread through her veins with each beat of her heart. It sounded slower as well, as if she was sleeping.

Blurry shapes made up her vision, Amelie seeing nothing but blotches of grey and gold. Her sight kept blacking out before returning to her bleary vision, the sharpshooter's ears ringing. It felt like thousands of needles were lodged in her skull, Amelie's hearing reduced to muffled booms and the quiet thrum of her heart.

Was she even alive anymore?

She remembered the searing sting of the bullet that tore through her gut, she could recall the desperate look that had been eternally frozen on Gerard's face as the life was torn out of him. She could still feel the cold weight of his corpse on top of her, his back burnt to seared flesh from the grenade. She remembered the banshee screams from her lips as she attempted to avenge her fallen husband.

Then there was the shot that killed her.

Or did it?

Amelie felt her body quake in tune with the clacking of boots on metal, the ragged breathing somehow familiar. Her vision was still a smorgasbord of blurry colors, but the ringing that rattled her skull dying down as she heard a gruff voice whispering above her nose. She could pick out someone saying over and over again; "Don't you dare go now Amelie."

"I need her at the infirmary." That gentle voice sounded familiar, an accent originating from...Germany? Switzerland? Austria?

There was the 'ting' of metal hitting metal, Amelie's eyes met with bright flashes. She heard the first voice cursing and soon she felt a different pair of hands take her. "Get her to the ship, I'll hold them off." She knew that coarse voice, it belonged to a friend...

She felt someone else carrying her, the calm and soothing Germanic voice echoing in her skull. It was driving her crazy, why did she recognize those two voices?

The blackouts in her sight became longer and longer until Amelie finally saw where she was. Blinking to get the spots out of her vision, Amelie quietly groaned as she found herself staring at a lamp. When she craned her head, Amelie grunted with effort. Her neck was killing her.

The room she was in appeared to be a rudimentary infirmary if the slightly charred lightbulb and aroma of chemicals accompanying the slightly bloodied bandages and sutures were anything to go by. She saw a fairly lean person in the room with her, the doctor she presumed as they cleaned their hands in the rusted sink.

When she tried to speak, Amelie's voice was not the steely tone she was renowned for. Her face soured as a strangled croak came out, the doctor turning their head to the patient. "Do not move, it may reopen your injuries." She had a calming voice, it sounded familiar.

Despite her blurry vision, Amelie could tell that the doctor had hidden her face with a plain black bandanna. Her hair appeared to be golden blonde and tied in a high ponytail, a pair of icy blue eyes scanning the downed Frenchwoman for any wounds she may have missed. Noticing the twitch in Amelie's lips, the doctor leaned closer to hear a strained whisper.

"Angela...?"

The renowned doctor put a finger to her lips. "I'm incognito for now." She began tapping a syringe, an unknown fluid within it. "I'll have to put you under again, but you'll be able to move once you wake up."

Sure enough, Amelie found herself able to sit upright with only discomfort after who knows how long she spent asleep. At least her sight had cleared up. Examining her arm, Amelie noticed the violet tinge to her skin. Her amber eyes widened, the sharpshooter's ears pricking up at the sound of her room's door opening.

There was a relieved sigh from the mass of muscle and bitterness in the doorway, a tray of food in his hands. "Glad to see you're up now."

"Gabriel." Amelie breathed. Her knees shook as she rose, the Frenchwoman wincing as sharp pinpricks crept up her legs. The Blackstar commander placed the tray down to help her stand, Amelie leaning on him. "How long...?"

"You were taken six standard days ago." Gabriel's voice was tired and flat. "And you were out for the last two."

Amelie gravely nodded. "What of Gerard?"

The lines of fatigue that crossed Gabriel's features became more defined as he took a long sigh. Rather then speak, he instead handed her dogtags that read; LACROIX, GERARD. "I'm sorry Amelie."

It was the one of the few comforts he could give, the sharpshooter leaning her head onto Gabriel's chest as he wrapped an arm around her.

 

* * *

 

 _Thelsian 4, present day_  
"Verdammt." Mercy muttered. She and Grayson had their speed cut in half, the two alternating between creeping along the ground and ducking into cover the next. While the going was slow, it was the best option they had in light of recent developments.

They had put as much distance between them and the Zigganaught hunters as they could, but Mercy knew that the second the reptiles had a clear trail they'd have to book it. It scared her when she recalled how quickly Zigganaughts could move once they had their prey in sight.

Helping Grayson slip into a gap between two large rocks before joining him, Mercy watched the Prowler fly past. While it may have been only the Zigganaughts on the ground that had been tasked to hunt her she guessed that the Imperial ships were relaying troops to solidify their hold. Once it was gone, Mercy crept out from hiding and helped Grayson out.

The two had barely made it more then thirty feet before they had to hit the dirt again, Mercy and Grayson leaping into a narrow space underneath an outcropping of rock. A larger and more imposing Zigganaught ship lumbered across the skies, corpses dangling from hooked chains that hung off the hull. It was the grim harvester of life, the collector of corpses.

And it was hungry.

Watching the ship drift past, Mercy's cobalt eyes lit up at the sight of a metallic glint in the distance. Edging ever so closely out of cover, she recognized the steely sheen that stretched in a straight line for miles, a passageway towards what could be escape.

Angela nudged the boy's shoulders and pointed to length of rail. "That's a grav-train line. We follow it, we might find something that'll get us out of here quicker."

Grayson nodded in understanding, the boy tailing Mercy as they took a new path. Little did they know that had left a trail for their hunters to follow, the yellow eyes of the Zigganaughts turning to the path their prey had taken. Forked tongue poked out between hundreds of teeth, the scent fresh.

 

* * *

 

 _Thelsian 5 orbit, onboard the Death Blossom_  
The roar of running engines and din of voices echoed through _Death Blossom_ 's main hangar as Black Eagles ran about preparing their vehicles and equipment. Guns were cleaned as magazines were issued, mercs fastening armor over fatigues while pilots warmed the engines to their Reavers. On the loudspeakers, Eve of Destruction by Barry MacGuire played while the older crew members sang along.

"Ya sure you don't need any help with figuring out how to run these? They're a little different from the Raptors you Feds run." The merc asked Pharah as she settled herself into the cockpit of the Reaver.

"There's nothing I cannot pilot." Pharah assured the Black Eagle.

"If ya say so. Did Reaper fill ya in on the plan?"

Pharah nodded. "I know what part I'm playing..." She glanced out the canopy towards her two friends. "...it's theirs I'm more worried about."

On the flight deck, Reaper had selected and briefed his crew. Thirty Black Eagles followed the Talon to the landing stations, all of them armed to the teeth with their myriad weaponry. Accompanying them was McCree and Lucio, the two assisted with fastening their grav-chutes on. Before long, Sombra's voice called out from the console in front of Reaper.

"Coordinates are set amigos." A small hologram of Sombra hovered over the console, the screen showing an image of Thelsian 4. In response several empty doorways shimmered, revealing the sight of a planet's surface from a height of near 2 kilometers.

"Now remember, second you step through there..." Reaper motioned to the doorways. "You'll be freefalling. Everyone know what they're doing?" When everyone nodded and murmured affirmatively, Reaper spoke again. "Then ready all tools of war and take up all manner of armaments! This is the hour we fight and they DIE!"

There was a rancour of laughs and cheers from the mercenaries, groups of ten heading into each doorway. Reaper led one of the teams with McCree joining them and the bounty hunter had to grasp his hat the second he crossed the threshold. In one step he went from the cold metal halls of Death Blossom to rapidly falling through the air.

Fumbling on his grav-chute's harness, McCree's hand shot for the dial that controlled his descent, the cowboy gradually slowing as he fell until he was drifting downwards at a steady pace with his feet facing the incoming ground. There was a crunch of cracked stone and sand beneath his boots, McCree's serape whipping in the dry winds around him.

The hunter adjusted his stance so he wasn't standing atop broken bones. "Ain't this a lovely place." Craning his head, he saw that they had landed in the midst of a bombed-out ruins of a human settlement, a frightening lack of corpses despite the bucketfuls of blood that were painted all across the wreckage.

The swirling mass of black mist formed into Reaper, the Talon's breathing unsteady as his immense frame trembled. Befitting the demonic stories that circulated around him, Reaper had fastened his nightmarish armor. Over his hooded jacket was a dark grey chestplate of segmented metal plates while his shoulders were guarded with horned skull-shaped pauldrons. His gauntlets had nail-like spikes along them while the kneecaps to his metal greaves were molded into snarling skulls, a large billowing obsidian overcoat draped over him.

One of the Black Eagles had a hand on his helmet's built-in earpiece. "Alright, other teams are in place and on the move boss."

Straightening his back, Reaper adjusted the shotguns that were slung over his shoulders. They were rugged metal constructs, one having a machete welded onto it like a bayonet while the other had the same done with a handsaw blade. "Move out, we're burning daylight."

There were affirmative nods from his team, even McCree agreeing. Slinging their weapons over their backs, all 12 of them broke into a light jog into the nearby forest.

The sands of time were running low for all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took awhile for this chapter, been having a bit of a rough patch these past few days. Hope you at least enjoyed this chapter.


	7. Working The Graveyard Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paths collide as Death and Mercy meet

_Thelsian 4_  
It had been a day and a half for Mercy and Grayson, the two following the grav-train line through the desert, a thin strip of green appearing on the horizon. Keeping an eye on their back, Mercy kept herself between Grayson and their hunters as they made their way closer to the forest. She glanced over her shoulder for perhaps the third time this minute, her heartbeat hammering against her eardrums. She really didn't want to see the serpentine forms of Zigganaughts slithering over the horizon next time she looked back.

She felt something bump into her, Mercy turning her head forwards to see Grayson's palms resting on his knees. She was afraid of this, the doctor dropping to one knee next to the boy. "Grayson, are you okay?"

"Yeah." Yet his mask faltered, Mercy noticing the buried signs of stress on the boy's face.

"Eyes on me." The doctor kept eye-contact on Grayson while she gently pressed two fingers to his wrist. Her frown deepened when she felt his uneven pulse, Mercy then checking the pulse in his neck. The signs were there, her arctic eyes boring into Grayson's. His gaze was unfocused, as if he was having trouble staying awake.

Mercy produced the last of the jerky and placed it in the boy's hands. "Eat. You need it more then me."

He wanted to eat. She could see he really wanted to. But there was something that held him back, something that made the boy refuse to eat. Much as she didn't want to believe it, Mercy couldn't see any other explanation. Whatever happened to Grayson in his past cut not only his flesh but scored his soul as well.

"Grayson." Mentioning his name seemed to break through his instinctive masochism. "Please, eat."

Grayson finally gave in, the boy devouring the last of their rations. Out of the corner of her eye Mercy could see the grateful look in his eyes, the doctor feeling her spirit rise with the sight of the boy eating. Yet like all things, this brief moment of joy was impermanent. Had Mercy simply looked up from her companion, she would have prevented what had happened.

Seeing blood was noting new to the doctor, but the fact it was from a child struck a nerve in her. Grayson had barely finished eating before a two foot metal spike shot through his leg, a pained scream coming from his lips as he fell. To Mercy it seemed to play in slow motion, the blonde freezing as she saw the blood pour from Grayson's leg.

_No..._

He was scared.

_No..._

He was in pain.

"No!" Mercy cried out as she finally snapped out of her stupor to examine Grayson's wound. She had barely finished before the unearthly howls broke her focus. There was a clatter as another spear struck the rock mere inches from them, Mercy turning her head to see a trio of Zigganaughts closing in on them.

There was no time to be gentle, no time to make sure he was comfy. They had to escape. Scooping Grayson into her arms, Mercy activated her Valkyrie suit, the glowing golden wings of her exosuit extending. They flickered as the thrusters sputtered to life, Mercy running as fast as she could towards the treeline. Her boots clacked with each step, small puffs of dust kicked up as she neared the forest. When she could finally fly, she took one leap and was airborne.

Their flight was choppy at best, the Valkyrie's thrusters sputtering on and off. Despite this, Mercy and Grayson still extended their lead on the Zigganaughts by a few kilometers before the shrill beeping of her suit warned that her energy reserves were depleted.

"Verdammt." Mercy cursed as the ground rushed towards them. In the brief moment before she hit the ground, she twisted her body in midair so that she took the full brunt of the impact while Grayson was cushioned by her body.

Grayson whimpered as the searing pain clawed at his leg. Tears had streamed down his face but no cries escaped his lips anymore. He learned to silence his pain a long time ago and he realized that Mercy was hurt from the fall, the blonde groaning in agony.

Grayson had already clambered off Mercy as best he could with a spear lodged in his shin, the doctor achingly rolling onto her elbows as she tried to push herself back up. Despite his leg, Grayson still tried to help her stand, the boy doing his best to keep her steady. All the while, the shriek of Zigganaughts neared them.

Spitting a glob of blood onto the dusty ground, Mercy looked up to see a dark figure approach the two. Mercy's blood ran cold at the sight, her eyes widening. While she had only known him by reputation, there was no mistaking him now, there was no doubt about the ivory owl-like mask that was shrouded with the black hood.

He steadily approached them, Mercy scrambling to her feet to put herself between Grayson and the Reaper. She could see him raising his shotguns, each one bearing savage bayonets painted deep crimson from his past victims. Reaching for her pistol, Mercy silently prayed as she raised the gun and aimed for the stark white mask of Death.

"Get down!"

Mercy blinked at the sound. Was that the Reaper's voice?

"NOW!"

Rather then shoot, Mercy dove to the ground, her body acting as a shield for Grayson. She heard the boom of shotguns, the coppery reek of fresh blood filling the air. Looking up, Mercy saw the Zigganaughts that hunted her and Grayson lying dead, their corpses torn to shreds from close-range fire.

Reaper stood over them, the barrels to his guns smoking. "Make a run for the treeline, now!"

Mercy had no idea what possessed her into obeying, but she made no protest as she lifted Grayson into her arms and bolted towards the forest. She could hear the screech of Prowlers, the blonde glancing over her shoulder to see the Zigganaught ships bearing down on the Talon as he opened fire on them.

Different guns blazed to life around them, Mercy seeing 5 Black Eagles jump from cover to open fire on the encroaching Zigganaught forces. Up ahead, her eyes widened at the sight of an all-too familiar man dressed in a cowboy hat and serape. "Jesse?!"

"Glad as I am to see ya again I believe it is in our best interests to RUN LIKE HELL!" McCree fired three shots from his revolver into the Zigganaught ships before motioning for Angela to follow him. The doctor tailed the hunter, the two running into the cover of the trees. Despite the fire in her legs and lungs, Angela refused to slow down. The pained breathing from the child in her arms pushed her to keep moving, Angela sprinting until McCree gave her the sign to stop.

While they had escaped into the forests, the crack of gunfire and boom of crashing ships could still be heard. Looking around, Mercy could see five more Black Eagles keeping watch. "Who's the kid?"

McCree's question brought Mercy's attention back to the paling boy in her arms. She gently lowered him onto the ground, McCree muttering a string of curses when he spotted the metal spike stuck in the boy's leg. He knelt next to Mercy, the doctor thoroughly checking the wound.

"He needs to get the spear removed." Mercy's voice was flat and empty. "Jesse, I need you to remove it while I make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

"Yes ma'am." McCree recognized the hollow tone. He placed both hands on the spear while Grayson's shoulders were held down by Mercy.

"This will hurt, but be strong." Mercy reassured the boy.

McCree swallowed as he looked Grayson in the eye. "For what it's worth bucko, I'm sorry." The cowboy yanked the spear out, the boy's pained thrashing restrained only by Mercy's iron grip. Throwing the spear to the ground, McCree took over holding Grayson down while Mercy extended her Caduceus staff. Before long a stream of healing nanites flowed down from the end of her staff to Grayson's wounded leg, the flesh and bone knitting itself back together. In moments it seemed as if the injury was never there, Grayson finally calming down.

It wasn't until the boy was calm that Mercy finally breathed. Grayson seemed to have fallen asleep, the sudden pain and fatigue exhausting him. Much as she wanted to, Mercy denied herself rest for now. Instead, she turned her head to her old friend. "Did you have a hand in bringing Black Eagle here?"

"More or less." McCree answered. He looked up to see the rest of the mercenaries return, Reaper at their head.

"On the one hand, the pursuing Ziggs are down. On the other, we've kicked the hornet's nest now." Reaper announced. "We've got a little more then a day left, so let's get a move on." His masked visage settled on Mercy. "Doctor, McCree here can bring you up to speed. Rest of you, pack it up. We're rolling out on the double."

There were affirmative murmurs from the mercenaries as they started holstering sidearms and slinging guns over backs, Mercy cradling a passed out Grayson while McCree kept his eyes on their backs. The motley crew blazed a trail further into the trees, McCree catching Mercy up with the past few days beyond the Thelsian system.

"...and after a bit of hagglin' we managed to get him to agree." The gunfighter finished. He nodded towards the boy in the doctor's arms. "Was he one of the evacuees?"

Mercy nodded grimly. "He would've been abandoned here." She glanced at Grayson, the boy's face twisted in pain. There was far more hurting him then his body's scars.

Reaper raised a fist, everyone behind him stopping. "Lunch break, we've bought enough time."

There were relieved sighs all around as rucksacks were opened and containers of food were passed around. A few took seats on mossy logs, Mercy and McCree among them. It wasn't until the scent of meats tickled her sinuses that Mercy realized how hungry she was, the doctor's mouth watering. The smell was strong enough to awaken Grayson, the boy's eyes fluttering open.

"Angela...?" He weakly murmured. His eyes could barely open.

"How are you feeling?" Mercy asked.

"So hungry..."

McCree needed no prompt nor request, the cowboy handing the doctor a large container of stew. While it had went cold long ago, Grayson made no complaint about the fact as Mercy spoonfed him. She never realized how starved he was until he finished the entire container, McCree frowning. "He's got a big stomach for a youngin'..."

"I don't think that's the case Jesse." Mercy adjusted her hold on Grayson as he fell back asleep.

The lines on McCree's face deepened. "That's what I'm afraid of." He knew starvation better then most.

"Mount up." Came Reaper's swarthy voice. "We've gotta put more miles in before dinner."

 

* * *

 

By the time the sun had disappeared, the Black Eagles and their guests were deep in the forest. There was no campfire as they dug into their packed dinners, plain and rugged stews while a few took swigs from hip flasks. There was quiet conversation between everyone, Reaper sitting cross-legged silently while McCree started snoring. From his perch, Reaper could keep an eye on everyone and he noticed how Mercy had barely spoken as she made a makeshift bed for the boy she had with her.

While his mask made it appear he was staring ahead at nothing, Reaper's eyes were unblinking as she stared at Mercy. She seemed so familiar, Reaper feeling a pricking sensation at the back of his skull while his chest ached. It felt as if he was missing a part of himself. When she finished tending to the boy, her head turned to glance at him. She was intrigued.

Reaper motioned for her to approach, the doctor hesitant at first. But she seemed more curious then cautious as she took a seat next to the Talon. "Found him here?" Reaper nodded his head to the sleeping child.

"Didn't make it to the evacuation ships in time." Mercy answered flatly.

There was a dark grunt from the ghastly man. "Didn't anyone else notice? His parents or someone like that?"

"...I don't think he has any." Mercy's frown deepened. "Any good ones at least." She gazed at the ivory owl-like mask that was the face of the Talon. She couldn't read his face at all but his voice seemed to carry his facial expressions as well. "Why are you so interested in him?"

"I've seen kids like him before." Reaper's tone had darkened, as if he was recalling memories he tried to forget. "He's an orphan of war."

"I didn't think of you as the bleeding heart kind, Talon." Mercy's tone had an edge to it. While this was not her first time dealing with Black Eagles, the long list of murders to Reaper's name was doing him no favors with the doctor.

"I'm a mercenary, not a monster." Reaper replied evenly.

"I've seen your handiwork. Forgive me if I doubt that claim."

Reaper snorted. "Typical Fed. You may dip into the blood pond every now and then, but we have to live it every day." Tendrils of smoke drifted off of Reaper's menacing form. "Soldiers like us had the most thankless and dirtiest jobs. We fought back countless horrors and watched friends die all around us and our reward for our sacrifices was to be spat upon and called monsters by those we died to protect." His gaze had that of the angel of death. "Each of my lifetimes were spent fighting a war none had the courage to face and the only warriors who dared to stand alongside the Zigganaughts' god of death."

Mercy fell silent, her face softening. She recalled Gabriel having a similar outlook, the Blackstar commander's cynicism hammered into his soul from the decades of blood he had been ordered to spill. She had seen too many Blackstar operatives buckle under the weight of the condemning of war protesters, the doctor unable to save them from their own violent self-destruction.

"I have no love for war..." Mercy replied quietly. "...but I do wish that nations loved their soldiers as much as they love their nation."

The black vapour began to fade, Reaper's form settling. He was gazing at her, but it seemed that any hostility he had was waning. "Go, sleep. I'll be keeping watch."

Normally she could remain awake for days on end, but this was one of the few times Mercy conceded to her fatigue. She lied down next to Grayson, the boy curled up under both of the blankets that were packed in the rucksack. While it was a chilly night out, Mercy didn't mind sleeping in the cold if it meant someone else would be alright. All through the night though, her mind pondered over the Talon's words.

 

* * *

 

"Angela?"

The timid voice echoed in Mercy's head, dredging her out of her slumber. A dim grey light cracked across the darkness of her vision, Mercy's eyes slowly opening. Looking around, she saw Grayson kneeling next to her, the boy visibly relaxing as the doctor sat up. "Morning already?" Mercy yawned.

The boy nodded. "The dark guy said that we're heading out soon."

Sitting up, Mercy realized that she was swathed in an immense black coat like a blanket. The edges were ragged, bloodstains that were too deep in the fabric to wash out painted across the sleeves. Stitched on the right sleeve near the shoulder was the Black Eagle emblem, the coat reeking of burnt gunpowder and gristle.

"Mount up everyone." Reaper was at the head of the group, his overcoat missing. The hood to the jacket was still up though, casting crooked shadows over his owl-like mask. "Everyone circle around the kid and the doctor, no harm comes to them under any circumstance."

There were affirmative nods all around as the Black Eagles took up position. Mercy peeled the coat off and held it out to Reaper, the Talon thanking her before pulling it back on. "You looked cold last night." The Talon spoke before Mercy could even ask.

"Weren't you cold without it?" Mercy's question earned a few chuckles from Reaper and a few of the Black Eagles.

"Trust me doc, not a lot bothers me." Reaper answered as he led the group onwards.

While intrigued, Mercy did not press the matter. "Danke, Talon."

The motley pack had followed the grav-train line further into the forests in a quick walk. Having finally gotten some prolonged sleep and more substantial meals, Mercy and Grayson were able to keep pace as they blazed their trail into the woodlands. Glancing at the Talon, Mercy noticed how the grass around Reaper turned brown and dead as he passed by, as if he was draining the life from it. She could not ponder for long about it before McCree's face lit up.

"Darnit, nearly fergot..." The bounty hunter rummaged through his pockets for a few moments before he produced a pair of glass cylinders that had a golden glow to them. "Pharah gave these to me, said that you'd need 'em."

"Danke freund!" Mercy's lips curled into a grin as she ejected her Valkyrie suit's spent power cells and replaced them with the fresh ones McCree provided her. The second they were plugged in she felt a tingle all over as her suit was re-energized.

Up ahead, Reaper suddenly halted as he raised a fist, the rest stopping as well. His head whipped around to behind him and while his face was hidden, an aura of anxiety had began to coil around everyone else. "Hit the dirt, we've got incoming!"

There was a low rumble, as if a thunderstorm was rolling in. Immediately everyone scattered underneath the trees and scrub for cover as an Imperial Harvester hovered overhead. Larger then the Prowlers, the Harvester's ventral hatches slid open and a pack of Zigganaughts dropped down. The second they hit the ground, the Black Eagles sprang into action.

Reaper had shed his gloves, exposing his necrotic arms. He grappled one of the serpentine hunters, his foe rapidly decaying while the blistered and charred skin on his own arms began to heal. At his sides one Black Eagle had opened fire with an assault rifle as McCree fired short quick bursts, each bullet the cowboy firing hitting a Zigganaught right between the eyes.

Activating her Caduceus staff, Mercy wasted no time directing healing nanites to anyone that needed them. Those that were healed by her were quick to give her a sign of appreciation; a nod, thumbs-up, or shouting "Thanks doc!" All the while Mercy kept an eye on Grayson, the boy huddling behind a large rock with his hands over his ears.

There was a rustling in the trees, more Zigganaughts dropping down from above. One of the Black Eagles was caught in a Zigganaught's coils, his bones audibly cracking as the life was choked out of him.

"Get your scaly hide off of him!" Reaper roared as he opened fire on the Zigganaught, the reptile shrieking as it was torn to shreds from the buckshot. Immediately a golden stream of light connected with the broken mercenary, his wounds rapidly stitching themselves together.

There was a screech from a horn, a ragged grav-train slowly approaching the mercenaries. Along the cars, more Black Eagles were perched as they opened fire with sniper rifles, laser guns, and more. The train slowed down and eventually stopped in the midst of the fight, Reaper pointing to it. "Everyone get aboard now!"

"Go, I'll cover ya!" McCree yelled at Mercy over the din of fire.

Normally she would refuse, but Mercy wasted no time in scooping up Grayson and making a run for the train. All around them, the sound of music could be heard, lifting everyone's spirits despite the bloodshed around them. Lucio darted past mercenaries, his music encouraging the Black Eagles to redouble their efforts, a few even singing along over the bark of gunfire.

While they kept firing at the encroaching Zigganaughts, the Black Eagles backed up onto the train. Once they were all onboard, it began moving again back the way it came. Reaper was on the roof with a few others, their guns firing as the train picked up speed. Within the cars, Mercy tended to the injured with her staff while Lucio's tunes kept everyone calm.

The gunfire died down, Reaper's ghastly form materializing in the car with the doctor and her patients. "How're we looking?"

"Zero casualties." One of the Black Eagles answered, a short-haired woman with a buff figure. "We've got those two to thank for that." She motioned to Mercy and Lucio.

"Considering your the ones with your necks on the line for our sake, it's the least we can do." Lucio replied.

Reaper gave a sigh of relief as he finally relaxed. He could see those that were healed by Mercy's staff were pleasantly surprised as they flexed their restored muscles in wonderment. "Thank you both." Despite his gruff tone, one could hear genuine gratitude in the Talon's voice.


	8. Angel's Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The motley crew finally makes their escape from Thelsian 4, but there's a price to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry for the long wait. Life has been giving me more kicks to the balls then usual so my creativity had stalled. However, for 2018 I will update my works a LOT more frequently. Thank you for those patient enough to put up with me

Hunger.

He needed that light.

He saw more of it all around him, he was in a golden glowing field. The glow around him went out, just absorbed right into his ravenous form. He saw a larger glow, a human was it called? When he grasped it, he felt its fist strike his face in retaliation. He was pushed back, but he could hear a shriek in pain.

It didn't hurt at all.

His eternal appetite numbed him to the pain.

He could see a human doubling over in pain, clutching their arm. From the elbow down it had withered into a deathly husk of necrotic skin tightly wrapped around cracked bones. He didn't care, he simply wrapped his own hand around their neck and watched the light fade, feeding his own tattered soul. He watched their eyes collapse into empty pits, their clothes becoming too big as their body wasted away.

He felt better, but the hunger still gnawed at him.

He needed more.

The 11 Talons demanded it.

 

* * *

 

_Thelsian 4, Present day_

Reaper opened his eyes, the Talon seated cross-legged in the back of the train car. He never had dreams, just fleeting memories on the edge of his mind. Reaper often wondered what it was like to dream, the Talon enraptured by the stories his fellow mercenaries would speak of in their waking hours of the strange and wondrous sights that their sleep brought them.

"What is it like to sleep?" Reaper murmured.

"Didn't quite hear, got some interference." A voice crackled on the communication systems built into Reaper's mask. "Please repeat?"

Reaper chuckled. "Nothing you need to worry about Ross, just thinking aloud."

"Well whatcha thinkin' about boss?" Another voice chimed in.

"Eh, just wondering what sleeping's like." Reaper answered, his gravelly voice relaxed.

"Wait, you don't sleep?!"

"He may close his eyes for awhile and not talk, but he's still awake you dolt."

"Sod off Skae!"

"Love each other before I kill you." Reaper growled playfully. Looking up, he saw the boy that accompanied the doctor was staring at him in curiosity, Mercy still catching up on sleep. "Alright, cut the chatter for now. Keep an eye on all sides, we're not off this rock yet."

There were affirmative replies, Reaper turning his head to the boy. "I'm afraid I never properly introduced myself." The Talon began, the boy ducking slightly at the sound of his voice. "I've gone by many names over many lives, but you can call me Reaper. What's your name?"

Despite the skulls, spikes, and owl-like mask, Reaper didn't seem as scary as the Zigganaughts that hunted them. "Grayson." He timidly answered.

Reaper nodded at that. "Good name. You been living here long?"

Grayson only nodded. Tilting his head, Reaper noted the unnatural cuts and scars across Grayson's face. "You have any family here? Friends?"

The boy only shook his head, his long and mangy hair ruffling with the motion. Behind his mask, Reaper frowned. There was an unusual tint to the boy's sickly palour, one that was not a symptom of fatigue or starvation. Rising to his feet, Reaper slowly approached Grayson, trying not to spook the boy. While he recoiled a bit, Grayson didn't seem to fear him as much as the Zigganaughts.

Reaper tapped two clawed fingertips to the eye sockets of his mask. "Look here." He gently ordered. The boy complied, Reaper's eyes boring into Grayson's. After a moment, he then nodded. "Alright, that'll do."

"What were you looking at me for?" Grayson quietly asked as the Talon rose to his full height.

"Just had a hunch was all." Reaper answered, but his head soon whipped to the back of the train. Scanning the passing scenery, there was a low growl from the Talon. He gently shook Mercy's shoulders, "Dr. Ziegler, you better get up."

While fatigue still clouded her mind, Mercy was able to awaken. "What, what is it?" She yawned.

"We've got trouble." Was the Talon's short response. Activating his comms, he started barking orders. "Zigg hunting party is inbound, all points on high alert." All across the train was the clatter of boots and clicking of guns, the mercenaries readying themselves. Tapping a few keys on his wrist, Reaper spoke again. "Talon to _Cauchemar_ , come in."

"I hear you Morte." Widowmaker's voice crackled over the communicator.

"Targets are secured and we're near the rendezvouz point." Reaper made sure his shotguns were loaded. "Send in extraction team."

There was a sharp clang, Reaper's hood grazed by the metal spear that bore through the train car's wall and narrowly missed his head. Coolly looking out the back door, Reaper could see several lengths of chains leading from the train to the Prowler that tailed them, more of the alien crafts closing in like sharks drawn to a carcass.

"...okay, we're not going to make it to the rendezvous." Reaper idly remarked as he opened fire. "Also, send the doctor to the _Death Blossom_."

There was a hiss as a missile was fired by one of the Black Eagles, the mercenaries cheering as the explosive hit its mark and reduced the ship to flaming scrap metal. Spurred on, they began shouting insults and cackles alongside gunfire at the Zigganaught ships that neared.

Fluidly climbing onto the roof, Lucio turned up the volume on his music. "This is DJ Ribbit, broadcasting to you live from Thelsian 4!" He earned a few laughs from the mercenaries, many of them enjoying the DJ's company. "We're currently in a bit of a hot spot, but I'll still take requests!"

"This ain't exactly yer genre..." An older Black Eagle casually loaded two shotgun shells into his ancient double-barreled shotgun, the weapon a relic from Terra's 1970's. "...but have you got Bob Seger?" He didn't seem to care for the flames and spears that flew past him.

Lucio expertly brought up his digital music library while weaving through the chaos. "I don't keep it on my drives, but if you give me a minute I can get it from the Net."

"Take as much time as ya need, mate." The Black Eagle replied as he coolly raised his shotgun at the Prowler that was running alongside the train. Squeezing the triggers, he smirked as the gun made a thunderous boom that splattered the Zigganaught pilot's brains all over the back of his seat.

Fiddling with the hardlight keyboard, Lucio smiled triumphantly. "Okay, for you old-timers out there, here's a classic for you!"

McCree's ears pricked up as he heard a familiar piano playing, the cowboy's attention turning away from the metal spears that flew past him. "I'll be damned..." Grinning, he couldn't help but sing along as the lyrics started. "Just take those old records off the shelf!"

Reaper started tapping his foot in time with the beat as he poured buckshot into the nearest Zigganaught ship. "I'll sit and listen to 'em by myself!"

The Black Eagle with the double-barrels clapped his hands once before firing again. "Today's music ain't got the same soul!" While Lucio rolled his eyes at that lyric, it didn't get to him much.

Another mercenary spun up his minigun and poured a metal storm onto the Zigganaughts. "I like that old time rock 'n' roll!"

Looking around, Mercy saw the Black Eagles bopping their heads, tapping their feet, or even adding some dance moves into their attacks to beat back the Zigganaughts while they sung along. Even in the heat of battle and with their lives on the edge of a knife, the mercenaries had a large grin as they fought back.

Chuckling, Mercy didn't try to fight against the urge that welled up in her chest. "Still like that old time rock 'n' roll!"

"That kind of music just soothes the soul!" Thirty-four voices sang in unison. While many were off-pitch or sounded outright like they were dying cats, all of them had a palpable sense of joy. "I reminisce about the days of old, with that old time rock 'n' roll!"

While he was confused at first, even Grayson had a smile on his face at the sound of the music. He bopped his head to the beat before he was overcome with a coughing fit, the boy clutching his chest as he felt his lungs clawing at his ribcage. His sight blurred as he felt his eyes water, Grayson's forehead pressed to the seat in front of him.

He felt a pair of arms lifting him up, the boy curling into his carrier's chest. The aroma of gunpowder filled his nostrils, Grayson feeling his carrier taking him onto the roof where the rumble of engines thrummed against his eardrums. Looking up, he saw human gunships hovering above the train, their aft ramps open for the Black Eagles on board and their rescued hostages to get onto them.

Grayson watched the mercenaries on the train serve as springboards for McCree and Lucio, the other Black Eagles following only once they got their guests airborne. From behind him, he heard a familiar voice. "What's wrong with him?"

"That spear that went through his leg was tipped." Came the gravelly voice of the one who was carrying Grayson. "Amelie's doctor should be on the _Blossom_ , she'll know how to detoxify his blood."

Looking up, Grayson saw Mercy's worried visage as she leaped onto the Reaver gunship above them. Stiffly turning his head, Grayson saw an owl-like mask just above him, clawed metal gauntlets holding him up. In a second he was lowered as the Talon used his body as a shield to protect the boy from the metal storm.

To any other human, four harpoons into the back would be painful at best. To Reaper though, the eternal hunger numbed the feeling of the spears that were lodged in his back. While their jagged tips protruded from his chest, none of them were near Grayson. Gritting his teeth behind his mask, Reaper forced only part of his body to enter its gaseous state, the Talon remaining solid from the waist up as he carried the boy onto the Reaver that carried his employers and the good doctor.

"Plan's still the same!" Reaper roared as he handed the boy to McCree. "Make a run for the _Death Blossom_ , the other Reavers will cover you!" His masked visage turned to face the pursuing Zigganaught ships. "I believe it's time I reacquainted them with their god." Once they were safe, his body turned to vapour. The onyx cloud drifted towards the nearest Prowler, the Talon re-materializing on its windshield and he promptly pumped buckshot into the pilot.

On the Reaver-gunship carrying the rescuees, everyone was strapping into the safety harnesses for the craft's passengers that lined the wall. Grayson was curled into Mercy's chest, the doctor checking his pulse and eyes as he whimpered. The Reaver shuddered from turbulence as it started making its way out of the atmosphere.

"Hold on!" Pharah yelled from the cockpit of the Reaver. Her scarf was pulled over her face as she expertly fiddled with the various switches and dials, small lights all over the console blinking as she shoved the throttle to the max. The Reaver's engines became fiery streams as it moved further into the skies, the rest of the Black Eagle ships providing a screen for Pharah's.

The turbulence stopped as the Reaver broke atmosphere, Pharah's eyes narrowing at the immense frame of Zigganaught warships oribiting the planet. They were jagged and monstrous constructs built in the shape of a shark, spears and harpoons fired from their many turrets.

"Raptor to Tarantula, requesting covering fire!" Pharah barked into the comms relay. All the while she jinked and weaved through the incoming storm of metal, the pilot evading the enemy fire with phenomenal grace.

From her perch in the captain's seat of her own ship, Widowmaker turned _Cauchemar_ by a fraction of a degree. Her seat was set right in the middle of the bridge, the Black Eagles of her crew monitoring the various screens in a circle around her. Right above her was a machine that dangled from the ceiling, wires and cables protruding from a device that could not be found anywhere else.

From this machine though was a headset that covered the top of Widowmaker's head, scarlet glowing eyes built into it. Thick cables ran from the headset to the machine above her, the emotionless woman simply sitting there. However, her headset was perhaps the deadliest feature of _Cauchemar_ , a personal addition that made her ship a harbinger of death.

"Feu." Widowmaker softly spoke.

 _Cauchemar_ was a unique vessel, the ship built on the design of an immense gun. Long and narrow, a fiery glow was traced along the length of its hull as a large-bore shell erupted from the end of the ship's gigantic barrel. With the sheer strength of the propellants and nothing in its way, the shell tore across the distance and ruptured the hull of the Zigganaught ship in the distance.

"Rechargement!" One of Widowmaker's bridge officers called out, the sound of the ship's inner workings echoing throughout its halls.

From Widowmaker's headset, she saw the Reaver gunships making their escape. They were out of the blockade and fleeing into the emptiness of space. Adjusting her ship, Widowmaker fired once more and gouged gaping hole in the Imperial cruiser.

Watching the ships around them burst into flames, Pharah barrel-rolled away from the scrap metal and debries that flew away from the explosions that _Cauchemar_ made. Taking the lead, her scanners picked up the other Reavers close behind and Prowlers being launched from the Zigganaught cruisers that had not been dealt with by Widowmaker.

However, her scanners also picked up their trump card.

"Dive!" Pharah ordered over the comms, the Reaver squadron sharply diving downwards. There was the crackle of electricity, bolts of lightning dancing across the hull of a ship that seemingly appeared from nowhere.

The _Death Blossom_ came into sight, the Talon's ship opening fire on the Zigganaughts from the thousands of batteries that lined her hull. _Death Blossom_ was right in the midst of the Imperial ships, but she fired at every angle, none of her enemies safe. Leading the Prowlers to the ventral guns, Pharah smirked as the gunners of _Death Blossom_ blasted her tailing foes into scrap.

Sharply veering right, Pharah steered the Reaver to the dorsal side of the battleship, its hangar doors open. Once the Reavers were docked, the hangar locked its doors while the occupants hastily unfastened their harnesses. Carrying Grayson, Mercy sprinted out of the Reaver to see Reaper exiting another one, the Talon motioning for her to follow him.

"Sombra, sync our jump coordinates with Amelie's!" Reaper bellowed. "And is the doctor in?!"

"Si, she's in the infirmary." Sombra's voice echoed from the various speakers lining the hallways.

While they bolted to the infirmary, other Black Eagles ran past them. Youths carried crates of munitions to the guns that were manned by older Black Eagles while some of the other younger mercs were handing tools to the ship's engineers that made hasty repairs to any of the interior damage _Death Blossom_ took.

Reaching the infirmary, Mercy's eyes widened at the sight. She recognized the lean redhead, the Black Eagle doctor sporting short hair and mismatched eyes. "Moira?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some specs for the Black Eagle vehicle pool;  
> -Death Blossom is about the same size as an Imperial Star Destroyer. She lacks long-ranged fire, but bristles with guns that give her a firing arc on every angle while her dorsal hangar packs a lot of strike-craft. She's also the largest ship with a cloaking device as well, such technology normally restricted to strike-craft.
> 
> -Cauchemar is simply a giant gun that has life support, habitation, and thrusters built onto it. Widowmaker's headset allows her to control the ship with her thoughts, allowing it to make incredibly accurate shots. It does have a hangar, but it's used only for the crew to embark/disembark
> 
> -The Reaver-class gunship is the space-age equivalent of a military assault helicopter and is their staple choice for air support. While it is not as nimble or maneuverable as a dedicated fighter or packs as much punch as a bomber, it makes up for this with versatility. It's an effective support gunner, transport, and dog-fighter, qualities that sees it being used by virtually every Black Eagle warship


	9. IMPORTANT

I'm making some major updates to this work. If you want the future chapters to make sense, you will need to go over this again.

 

Hope you notice and like the updates!


	10. Old Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that they are safe, our heroes get better acquainted with their hosts.

Her face was unchanging, the scientist regarding Mercy with a neutral stare. "Save any inquiries you have for later Angela." Moira motioned to one of the empty beds. "Bring the patient here and so I can get to work."

Mercy's grip on Grayson instinctively tightened. The almost maternal action did not escape the Irishwoman's sight, Moira rolling up her sleeves. "I do not have time to debate the ethics nor morality of my work Angela and judging from the boy's epidermal coloration, neither does he." She produced a small case and opened it to reveal the syringes she kept in their sterile compartment. "I know that it was Zigganaught Prime venom that poisoned him and I have an antidote for it."

Rather then verbally spar with her old rival, Mercy turned her head to face the Talon. "Reaper, this woman--"

"Por el amor de Dios!" Reaper cursed as he wrenched Grayson from Mercy's arms and carried him to Moira. "I know her reputation Ziegler, but she's saved more then enough of us to trust her!"

Had her mind not been struck with a revelation, Mercy would've fought Reaper tooth and nail. _I allowed my past grievences to prevent me from getting Grayson help he needed_. She watched as the Talon lowered the boy on the bed, Grayson's skin deathly pale and his breath all but gone.

Moira's mouth was a tight line as she injected the violet serum into the boy's neck. Her crimson eye watched the antidote spread throughout his bloodstream, Moira's left hand hovering over his chest as a golden beam of nanites began removing the toxins. While her focus remained on the task at hand, she still heard Mercy ask, "What did you do?"

"Under normal circumstances your nanites would be sufficient for detoxifying a human bloodstream that has been poisoned by Zigganaught venom." Moira's gaze remained on her patient. "As we both know though, a Zigganaught Prime has a much stronger toxin concentration that your nanites cannot remove."

"Did you increase the nanites' efficiency then?" Mercy asked with a suspicious glance.

"Your nanites are already at peak performance, there's no improvement I could ever make to enhance their effectiveness." Moira was certain that her old colleague would grin if the situation was less dire. "So I instead focused on the venom and concocted a serum that can break down the toxic compounds--"

"--to their constituent monomers for the nanites to remove." Mercy finished. How had she not thought of that?

Watching the boy's sickly skin tone change to a healthier pallour, Moira lowered her healing hand as she connected a heart monitor to Grayson's chest. "His vitals have stabilized but it will take several hours for the nanites to completely clean out his bloodstream." She looked up to see Mercy hooking up the IV bag to Grayson. "Afterwards he will require rest and an increased calorie intake to compensate for the overhaul his body has done."

When Mercy nodded, Moria glanced Reaper to notice the Talon's shoulders relaxing. "I'll leave this to the professionals then." He spoke as he made his way out. "Moira, give the doctor the tour, I've got a crew of murderous mercs to keep in line."

As the Talon left, Mercy took a long sigh. "The tour can wait, I just want..."

Frowning, Moira noticed the black rings under Mercy's eyes. "You're obviously fatigued. Rest will do your body plenty of good." She closed up the case of the Prime antidote, the redhead then helping Mercy lie down on the bed next to Grayson. "I will notify your friends where you are."

"Danke..." Mercy yawned and in seconds she was out like a light.

Watching the blonde sleep, Moira felt a tug on her heartstrings that she forgot she could feel. The memories that came back were quickly silenced, the scientist reminding herself that the past would never return. Fading to traverse the halls of Death Blossom quicker, Moria re-materialized in the hangar, the redhead perched atop a Reaver that overlooked the trio that had hired the Black Eagles. She was about to make her presence known before she heard the conversation.

"...I'm tellin' ya, the Reaper is a lot like 'ol Gabe!" McCree explained to Pharah. "He likes his shotguns and old-time music, and I mean ANCIENT tunes."

"I'm surprised anyone knows the lyrics to Bob Seger songs." Lucio quipped.

Pharah raised an eyebrow at the cowboy. "In case you weren't paying attention Jesse, that describes at least half of this crew. I mean all of them have an interest with pre-2000 music, they keep playing it on the PA system."

"Yeah, and Gabe was the only one who still kept those music records around!" McCree shot back. "Don'cha remember Pharah? It was nothin' but Ray Charles, Frank Sinatra, and the Four Tops in his record collection."

Pharah pinched the nose of her bridge, her brows furrowing. "I don't need a reminder..."

McCree's mouth was open but he soon closed it. "Look, all I'm saying that those two are way to similar. There like long-lost twins or something!"

"Ahem." The icy voice grated on their ears as they all looked up in surprise, or in McCree's case, abject terror.

"...how much of that did you hear?" Lucio questioned the lanky redhead.

"Not much." Moria replied in a cool voice as she leaped onto the ground, the redhead towering over the trio. "I am simply here to inform you that Doctor Ziegler is recuperating in the ship's medical ward." Noticing them about to ask something, Moria cut them off. "She's in as perfect health as one can be after an ordeal such as this, she is simply sleeping it off."

As Lucio and Pharah sighed in relief, Moira stalked away from them, her black labcoat billowing behind her. Turning to face McCree, the two noticed the bounty hunter's horrified expression. "Uh...you okay dude?" Lucio asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Just a word of advice kids..." McCree pointed to the shadowed corner of the hangar that Moira disappeared to. "NEVER, let that woman give you a physical."

Lucio and Pharah's faces had the same look; a blend of fear and confusion while McCree shakily made his way towards the mess hall of the ship. "C'mon, I need a REALLY strong drink."

Inside her personal Reaver, Moira watched the three make their way out of the hangar. She was seated while her body leaned on one arm, a finger gently tapping her temple. Those three were figuring out what was under the Talon's mask. Mercy, she wasn't sure on. While brilliant, the stress and fatigue probably numbed her awareness. Frowning, Moira realized that she had thrown logic to the wind, her rampant thoughts driven by emotion.

"I'm getting soft..." She sighed. Pondering it over, she could see why her thoughts would run amok in the face of these recent developments. Reaper stayed next to Mercy, had led her to the infirmary when another mercenary could've. Even if he couldn't remember, his mind was still dredging up the past.

"It won't be long before Angela puts the pieces together." Moira thought aloud in a bitter voice. "And when Reaper finds out..."

She really didn't want to think on that. Anything would be better right now. Reaching into the compartment underneath the dashboard, Moira produced a bottle of Tullamore Dew. While she'd prefer one of the pristine brews from her safe, the Dew would do. Unscrewing the lid, she took a swig but the alcohol didn't settle her mind.

Perhaps it was the whisky, or maybe a part of her that Moira thought she had exorcised long ago. It could've even been divine intervention, but she knew what she had to do. Her steely resolve spurred her on, Moira's confidence in a decision she made based on her feelings rather then cold logic.

Activating her wrist-communicator, Moira's mismatched eyes settled on the small hologram of Widowmaker that hovered before her. "Amelie, get here when you can."

 

* * *

 

 _Valagor Belt_  
Thousands of asteroids and meteorites drifted around a pale blue star, no planets in sight. From the void of space though, two ships exited hyperspace before the cloud of floating rocks. One was an immense vessel of monstrous beauty, images of the Grim Reaper painted along its hull. The second appeared to be a giant gun, ghoulish purple lights pulsating along its hull.

"...alright, who was on navigation?" Reaper asked in an irritated tone as he surveyed the thousands of asteroids.

A Black Eagle that was seated behind a console on the bridge hesitantly raised his hand. "Alright Nera, you're on dishes for a week for sending us straight into the middle of bloody Valagor." Reaper declared, Nera lowering his head in shame. "Alright, now someone else take over on navigation and try and get us on a course out of here."

While Nera vacated the bridge, Reaper noticed Mercy approach. "Ah, doctor. Sleep well I hope?"

"Best I've had in a little while." Mercy yawned. She had shed her Valkyrie suit for the plain black jumpsuit she wore underneath the ivory armor, her blonde hair loose from its usual ponytail and now an unkempt mess.

Reaper had to admit, it was an adorable sight. "Glad to hear that." Turning to face Mercy, Reaper leaned back against the railing. "How's the kid?"

"Still sleeping." Mercy answered.

Nodding, Reaper gave a relieved sigh before continuing. "Have your friends caught you up on our service fee?"

Mercy bit her lip. "I am not pleased that they made a decision concerning Unfailing without me, but considering the circumstances I am willing to accept your price."

"Can you manufacture a reasonable excuse for why your stores will have been depleted?" Reaper inquired.

"Yes..." Mercy's brow furrowed as she held a steady gaze with the Talon. "But having your men storm my ship is out of the question."

Reaper shrugged. "We don't always kill our hostages, but I can see the point..." He strode towards a navigation console and punched in a series of numbers, a heavily industrialized planet appearing. "If there was an industrial accident or something and you 'happened to be in the area', would that be plausible enough?"

"Please don't cause an industrial accident."

The Talon chuckled. "I'm friends with the Planetary Magistrate. This won't be the first time he's lied to the Feds."

"...no one will be needlessly hurt?" Mercy's eyes bore into the empty black pits of the Talon's mask.

"On my honour, word, and life doctor as the true Talon." Reaper answered with a steady stare, his voice genuine and solemn.

Mercy searched the Talon's visage for any sign of treachery. She found none. "Danke, Talon."

Nodding, Reaper motioned to the corridor leading to the rest of the ship. "Given that we've broken our record of lowest casualties, there's gonna be a huge feast in an hour. All of you are invited."

Mercy couldn't stop her lips from curling upwards. "That'd be wunderbar."

"Dress code is anything that's family friendly, we've got kids here." Reaper reminded her before returning to commanding the bridge crew.

 

* * *

 

For a mercenary army boasting a reputation of galactic mass-murder and being terrifying angels of death and war, it was surreal to watch the Black Eagles of _Death Blossom_ and _Cauchemar_ sitting around the rows of dining tables, all of them tucking into steaming plates of food ranging from ribs and lambchops to stir-fried veggies and glazed donuts. All of them had shed their combat armor and heavier weaponry, but a few kept sidearms and small blades tucked into their belts and boots.

Picking a table near the exit, Angela, Grayson, McCree, Pharah, and Lucio were awkwardly glancing around at the mercenaries that feasted on the immense buffet that was served. Cheers, toasts, and the odd slice of bread that went flying across the room were commonplace, the different crews boasting war stories and battle scars. While they all shared black fatigues and the Black Eagle patch stitched on the sleeve, the mercenaries of _Death Blossom_ had flecks of white paint and skull emblems while those from _Cauchemar_ sported dark purple highlights that had the appearance of spider's webs along their jackets.

"It's nice to know that people of all kinds can get along this well." Lucio commented as he glanced around at the humans, omnics, and aliens that were chatting and laughing together before taking a bite of mashed spuds.

"They have shared misery." Angela replied, Grayson devouring plate after plate in the seat next to her. "They've lost their families or home, but here they feel that they belong."

Pharah took a sip from her mug. The coffee wasn't too bad. "You know a lot about them Angela..." She put her drink down before digging back into her bowl of stew. "...may we ask why?"

"Your friend is the reason I'm alive." A familiar French accented voice remarked, a tall woman with purple-tinted skin taking a seat near the group. "She joined a Black Eagle team years ago that saved me from Null Sector's custody."

"Was kinda wonderin' how ya ended up in their ranks." McCree remarked as he disdainfully eyed Widowmaker.

"At least people here make more of an effort to find me when I am missing." Widowmaker's tone dripped with venom.

Angela noticed how Grayson edged closer to her, the doctor's eyes narrowing at Widowmaker and McCree. "Enough you two. We did not come here for fighting, so lets all just eat and keep it civil." She shot the two a glare that made one shiver and the other recoil.

Everyone resumed eating in silence for a few moments before Grayson piped up. "Why does Reaper wear a mask?"

A few at the table shared a similar look of confusion and curiosity as Grayson, but one had the slightest hints of fear. "I actually have been wondering that myself..." Angela thought aloud.

"Been wonderin' what?" A passing Black Eagle remarked. Her long hair was tied back, but the sides were shaved off and her right arm was a whirring arrangement of pistons and servos.

"We're just brainstorming why Reaper wears a mask is all." Lucio answered.

The mercenary's eyes lit up as she took a seat with the group, her short-sleeved army shirt adorned with the iconography of the Grim Reaper. "Ohoh trust me, it's one helluva story..." The non-Black Eagles leaned forwards in interest.

"So, about...well, long ago really, the Ziggs were conquering a planet somewhere in the Outlands." The mercenary's hands made the motions for emphasis on the story. "There was a band of humans, Omnics, Krulkans, Greznechs, and a few other races that got left behind. One warrior among them though decided they weren't having any of that so they carved a mask that looked like an owl's skull."

Noticing the collective expressions of realization from the ship's guests, the Black Eagle continued. "That warrior wore that mask in a guerilla war against the Ziggs, but something about that mask terrified them. I don't know their tongue, but in English they called the masked warrior 'The Talon of God'. It scared them, had a nice ring to it, so the name stuck."

"So the mask and title get passed on?" Pharah inquired.

The mercenary nodded. "Reaper's the 13th Talon. However he's a bit of a unique case in the Talon lineage."

"How so?" Angela asked.

"He's pretty much a ghost." Grayson's eyes widened at that response. "No one knows where he comes from. Akande found him seven years ago, took him in, and he proved himself to be a fearsome soldier and brilliant commander." She leaned forwards as if to impart a secret, her attention more focused on Grayson. "If you ask Reaper where he came from, he'll say that he's the reincarnation of the previous Talons. He believes that he's their collective spirits manifested in one body and that he's here to bring bloody retribution against the Ziggs."

"Do you think that he really is the reincarnation of the Talons?" McCree's voice had twinges of skepticism.

The mercenary only shrugged. "I don't know about the whole reincarnation deal, but given that he feeds by literally draining the life from his victims and that he can turn into a black cloud of smoke, none of us question the claim."

Angela raised an eyebrow. "So you're letting him live a delusion of grandeur? And none of you are curious about why he's the way he is?"

"He's taken more bullets for others then anyone else and he's never hesitated in that regard." The mercenary retorted. "Even though he believes that he's the Zigganaught's death god, he never lords it over anyone but them." The conviction in her voice was unbreakable. "He may be a ghostly figure, but he is our friend and to some of us, he's the closest thing we have to a dad."

There was no time to further the conversation as a purple hologram of a young woman materialized in the midst of the mess hall, the chatter in the room dying down. "Hola amigos! El anciano is opening the jukebox to the floor, anyone have any requests?"

Immediately there was an uproar of song titles and musicians, Sombra chuckling at the enthusiasm from the mercenaries. "Okay, by popular request..." In moments, 'Video Killed The Radio Star' by the Buggles began to play, the majority of the Black Eagles cheering in response to the music.

When the hologram flickered off, McCree turned back to the Black Eagle at their table. "So I've seen her around, but what's her story?"

"AI program Reaper found awhile back." She answered. "Helps us run our ships, keeps track of all our logistic data and provides tactical support, you name it."

Lucio in the meantime was shuffling in his seat in time with the music. Once his food was finished, he hopped to his feet and joined the other Black Eagles that were getting down and funky. Turning her head to Grayson, Angela noticed how the boy was becoming livelier in his seat, the rhythm making him move.

"You like this song?" Angela asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Uncle Anton would keep playing this." Grayson seemed like he wanted to dance, but something was keeping him back.

"...do you dance?" The doctor asked.

Grayson's face fell. "I never got to."

Getting to her feet, Angela motioned for Grayson to follow her. "Well, I can show you a few moves." She took Grayson's hands in her own while guiding him through the motions. Thought it took about half the song, Angela finally saw Grayson's smile as he followed her lead.

A few more songs from the 1980's began to play, everyone on the Death Blossom jumping into the dancefloor at some point. Even Reaper joined the dancing at one point, but in the back of the room, two rather tall women simply watched him.

"...he has to know." Widowmaker spoke quietly.

"I doubt he will handle it well." Moira replied, but her tone was far from challenging.

"Non..." Widowmaker's hand instinctively reached for the dog tags around her neck. "But he deserves to know what happened."

Moira seemed to be mulling it over before she spoke again. "We tell him later. Let him enjoy himself for just one more day."

"Dernier repas avant l'exécution." Amelie sadly remarked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the happiness while you can. It will get quite dark quite quickly


End file.
